


Eric & the Adversary

by vol_ctrl



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale and Crowley in Love (Good Omens), Crowley fanboy, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eric is Legion, Established Relationship, Fluff, Godparents Aziraphale and Crowley (Good Omens), Guardian Angels, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Intern from Hell, M/M, Post-Canon, Spies, assignments
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:27:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 33,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22190287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vol_ctrl/pseuds/vol_ctrl
Summary: Eric is tasked with spying on Crowley after the Armaggedon't, and Crowley inadvertently finds himself a mentor to the Disposable Demon. Eric wants to have a worthy adversary, just like Crowley, so Aziraphale summons a Guardian Angel, Eric's Heavenly equivalent. The Husbands become accidental godfathers to an overconfident Disposable Demon and a hapless Guardian Angel, and quite by chance discover that their Arrangement may be the key to improved demon-angel relations.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Disposable Demon (Good Omens)/Original Character(s)
Comments: 162
Kudos: 192





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this project brewing with the wonderful [Shae_C](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shae_C/pseuds/Shae_C) ([@InkyTortoise](https://twitter.com/InkyTortoise)) for a couple months now, and we're so excited to share it with you! We had such a blast coming up with this fun little story about Eric, the underappreciated Disposable Demon, and creating a friend for him.
> 
> Shae's artwork is featured in this collaboration. Please go heap some love on her here and on Twitter!!

“The Disposable Demon is here for your audience, my Lord,” Dagon announced as she looked up from her clipboard.

Beelzebub sat slumped in their throne. They lifted a hand an inch from the arm to beckon the Disposable Demon forth into the court.

Eric leaned his fuzzy-peaked head from the hallway leading to the dank court. It was much nicer than the other offices in Hell. A proper _court,_ albeit lit by the ever-on-the-fritz fluorescent lights just like the other domains of Hell. He shot Lord Beelzebub a quick grin, a flash of pearly white teeth, but demurred at the look Dagon shot him.

He cleared his throat and strode forward with as much courtly manner as he could manage. “My Lord Beelzebub,” he said with grandeur, just before he tripped on a snag in his over-long scarf and nearly face-planted. He straightened himself and dusted off his coat. “S-sir,” he choked out. “Erm, ma’am--uh--Boss,” he settled on with a self-satisfied, and self-preserving, smile. “You… wanted to see me?”

Beelzebub’s lips twitched--whether it was in a smile or a scowl was impossible for Eric to tell. “I have a mizzion for you, Eric.” Beelzebub always used his name, which Eric liked. It was quite the accomplishment to be on first-name basis with the Lord of Hell!

Beelzebub used it as a means to keep the leash on the ancient power that lurked just beneath the dopey surface of the demon they kept broken up into a multitude. That, and they were just a little bit fond of the idiot. Hard worker--even if he was just as incompetent as the rest.

The Lord of Hell held out a hand toward Dagon, and their assistant handed them a file.

“A mission, my Lord?” Eric bristled with excitement, unable to hide the joyful way his eyes widened. He was given plenty of tasks and errands--usually the ones that other demons didn’t want to bother with because of the threat of discorporation or the sheer amount of paperwork involved. 

Eric was handy with paperwork. He’d had to fill out paperwork for every single one of his two thousand corporations. It had taken centuries. In the end, Hell decided it was a better use of his time to just have a form all his own: XC-22-B: Special Corporation Permissions for Multitudes and Hiveminds. (He was the only multitude or hive-mind in Hell, but might as well make it a standardized form, anyway.)

“You are aware of…” Beelzebub’s lip curled in a sneer and they buzzed. Their flies swarmed around their head like an angry crown. “... The _traitor_ Crowley?”

Eric felt like he had a fly in his throat as Beelzebub glowered down at him. “Y-yessir! Er, ma’am. Boss.” He cleared his throat, dearly hoping he _hadn’t_ swallowed one of Beelzebub’s flies. “Wily ol’ serpent. Who doesn’t know Crowley? Real terrible stunt he pulled in the end. The, uh--stuff on Earth…” Luckily, Eric had not been blamed for the mess at Meggido. That had been one Hell of an avocado, metaphorically speaking, considering the mistaken identity of the Antichrist and all. 

“Demons are meant to be terrible,” Dagon bit out. “It was the _good_ that he did that’s the problem.”

“Oh. Right.” Eric grinned amiably. “Missed the trial, but I heard--”

“Zzilenczze!” Beelzebub barked.

Eric shrank and clasped his hands together, nearly crumpling to his knees before the force of the Lord of Hell’s voice. “‘Course, Boss, sorry, Boss.”

Beelzebub narrowed their eyes at Eric. Stupid kid couldn’t even stay silent when commanded by the Lord of Hell. No sense of preservation, this one. But he was loyal. Beelzebub had no doubt of that. He was too stupid and weak to defect. So long as he was kept split into his multitude. And if he ever did coalesce… well, Beelzebub had no doubt that Legion would prove evil enough to snuff out any considerations of defecting.

“He izz… a lozzt cauzze. But he hazz not been zztripped of his powerzz,” Beelzebub muttered. They opened the file and squinted at the report, then closed it with a flick of their wrist and a buzzed sigh. They tossed the file to the ground in front of Eric.

Eric looked incredulously from Beelzebub to the file. They were giving _him_ paperwork? Not to do, but--an _intelligence briefing_?

“We want to enzzure he’zz not plotting againzzt uzz. I want you to follow him. Report back your findingzz.”

The Lord of Hell wanted him to _spy_ on Crowley? He picked up the file quickly and tried to hide his giddy rush of excitement as he flipped through the alternately ink-blotted pages, and pages that appeared to have been printed with the death-rattle of an ink cartridge.

“Think you can handle that?” Beelzebub buzzed with a dark smile.

“Oh, yes, Boss. I’m your man!” Eric said proudly. He stood up as straight as possible and saluted the Lord of Hell.

Beelzebub waved their hand. “Get up there. And _zztay_ out of trouble.”

Eric gave Beelzebub a quizzical look. Stay out of trouble? But he was a demon. Trouble was the name of the game.

“If you’re caught,” Beelzebub clarified with a snap, “Zzatan knowzz what Crowley will do to you.”

Eric shivered involuntarily. “Right,” he said, wide-eyed. “Don’t get caught. Got it.”

Beelzebub waved their hand in bored dismissal.

“Won’t let you down, Boss!” Eric said cheerfully. Beelzebub’s gaze had drifted off in disinterest.

The Disposable Demon hurried off with a skip in his step. When he thought he was out of sight, he even clicked his heels together. Dagon caught this little gleeful motion and narrowed her eyes in disdain.

“My Lord,” Dagon said in a low voice. “Are you sure about this?”

Beelzebub’s lips quirked in a smile. “We muzzt keep the demonzz buzzy in this trying time,” they muttered. “The Dukezz of Hell are furiouzz. Too impulzzive. The rezzt of the dregzz are afraid of Crowley after that… zztunt he pulled with the holy water.” Even Beelzebub shivered minutely at the memory of watching the traitorous demon splashing around in holy water like he was at a day spa. “Eric izz… an idiot.” They huffed out a short laugh. “He’zz perfect for thizz mizzion.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While spying on Crowley, Eric realizes that he doesn't want to just watch the best, he wants to LEARN from the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art for this fic is done by the amazing [Shae_C](https://twitter.com/InkyTortoise)!! Go follow her on Twitter!

Crowley wasn’t hard to track down. His routine between Mayfair and Soho, as detailed in the file, hadn’t changed since the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t. Eric determined he was a creature of habit, which wasn’t all that surprising considering how long he had been designated on Earth. The only odd thing was how _comfortable_ he seemed. Demons weren’t meant to be comfortable. Went against the grain of things. And yet, Crowley wore _comfortable_ well.

Eric tracked him from alleyways and coffee shops opposite the places he frequented, followed him like a shadow. He noted several things:

Crowley had just as much of a tendency to litter as he did to pick litter up and place it in an appropriate receptacle.

He watched as Crowley glued several rare and interesting coins on the sidewalk, though the demon never stayed around long enough to see the effects of his lowkey evil deeds.

The demon changed the time-stamps on the bus schedules, but also caused several commuters’ watches to run slow or fast, so they still didn’t miss their busses.

On one memorable occasion, Crowley had spent an entire day tracking down a lost dog he saw on a poster. It had been the husband of the couple that owned the dog that had “accidentally” let the dog escape, so the return of the troublesome pet was a moot point as far as divine and occult intervention went.

The traitor frequented the bookshop of one Mr. A. Z. Fell. Upon seeing the proprietor of said shop, Eric recognized him immediately. Aziraphale, the traitor angel. He had seen that angel up at Head Office, when he’d dropped by to deliver some Hellfire. He would never forget _that_ angel, or the terror he had inspired.

Like any demon, he’d always wanted to punch an angel. Even under the circumstances of the trial and punishment and the like, the archangels had been surprisingly indulgent, told him to go ahead. But that _look._ Eric had never been that close to an angel, much less an angry one with nothing left to lose. With one flick of those cold eyes, he was sure he would regret it if he did punch Aziraphale. His insides had turned to ice, gripped with a terror so ancient and ingrained that he wanted to curl up and cannonball back to Hell. He was sure in that instant that Aziraphale would go through all the forces of Heaven and Hell to return whatever damage he inflicted, obliviated or not.

Eric was used to being discorporated. It felt like sometimes the other demons did it just for fun, just because they knew he had special multiplicity privileges. But the thought that this angel might come after him--hunt him down, destroy every corporation he could get his hands on... It shook him to his core.

And _that_ angel was Crowley’s adversary??

They met pretty frequently, at a variety of locations. They seemed to have some innate knowledge of where the other would show up. They had been adversaries for a long time--since the beginning, right? Of course they would know where to expect each other to thwart and wile.

Crowley was so calm and composed in the company of his adversary. Eric was shaken by Crowley’s ability to meet this dangerous angel’s power with such poise. How could he stand it? Even after all that happened with the trials and the expulsion of both Crowley and Aziraphale from their respective stations, the demon was still dedicated to foiling his adversary. He was a demon’s demon, he was.

Eric was impressed by Crowley’s subtle wiles. The demon didn’t go for big, flashy demonic motions. He worked in small, mysterious ways. Little inconveniences. So subtle that humans didn’t even realize they were being affected by the will of Hell.

It was bloody brilliant, it was. Eric could understand why Beelzebub was so tetchy about Crowley and his potential to turn against his former loyalties to Hell. If Crowley decided to turn his attention back on Hell, he would be a force to be reckoned with!

And, beyond that… Crowley was so _cool._ He made so little effort, but caused a chain reaction of low-level irritation and discomfort that really rocked the scales between good and evil. He swayed souls with a miniscule amount of effort, and pulled more weight than all the Dukes combined.

Eric wasn’t intimidated, he was _enamoured._ Crowley was the sort of demon to aspire to be. Clever, executing schemes effortlessly, keeping his enemy closer than any friend, and doing it all in style. Eric knew, if he could just learn a few of his tricks, he might be able to crawl up a few rungs of Hell… He’d spent so long stuck at the bottom of the totem pole, but by following Crowley’s lead, maybe, just maybe, he could make it.

Crowley made it look so easy--but how? Eric was at a loss. Crowley was supposedly the worst--er.. Best? Goodest? Demon in Hell, and yet he worked contempt in the smoothest ways.

But then there were the times that Crowley did something objectively… questionable. Sometimes he would pick up the litter he had dropped. Or he would return something that had been stolen. He would open the door for his adversary, or even hold it open for strangers.

That was the confusing part. Surely there was some demonic thread to these actions. Eric wracked his brain to find the seed of evil. More often than not, he found it. Ah! Crowley hadn’t put that piece of litter in the recycling bin. Crowley holding open the door for that stranger had seeded some little sprout of jealousy in that person’s companion.

Crowley was, in short, the best demon Eric had ever witnessed. He wasn’t just _evil_ in the tradition sense, but _wily,_ truly clever. He was evil in the most interesting way, and his actions left one wondering where the line between good and evil lay.

Eric had been told not to contact his target. But how better to observe the object of his mission than to go into _deep cover._ If he contacted Crowley, not only could he get even better intel, he could learn from one of the most successful demons in existence. After all, what was more impressive than betraying _Hell itself_?

The Disposable Demon steeled himself, reassured in the fact that even if Crowley destroyed him in some awful way, he would be back Earthside in a matter of minutes. Sure, blowing his cover would make his job more difficult in the future, but--either way, he would get better at his job. Either Crowley would accept him as a trainee, or Crowley would be aware of his presence, and he would have to get _even better_ as a spy. It was a win-win as far as he was concerned.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eric is determined to train under Crowley's tutelage, and gradually begins to wear him down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featuring wonderful art by [Shae_C](http://twitter.com/InkyTortoise)!!

"Crowley! My man," Eric tried to look casual with maximum effort. Crowley's blank look indicated he failed. "I mean, uh," he cleared his throat. "My- demon, er... D-Duke? Crowley?"

"... Just Crowley is fine." Crowley had been looking over his shoulder far too much in the aftermath of the Armageddon’t to not notice a spiky-haired little demon tailing him. It was just a Disposable Demon, so Crowley wasn’t too concerned. It didn’t bode well for the whole ‘leave me alone’ thing, but he could have worse demons on his tail.

"So, Lord Beelzebub is kinda mad at me right now, it's- it's a long story,” Eric lied smoothly. It wasn’t much of a lie--Beelzebub was usually irritated at just about every demon for one thing or another. “So, uh, I was thinking - Crowley, right? He's a real demon's demon. Traitor to the end, y'know."

Crowley's blank look persisted.

"I was, uh. Hoping I could stay with you for a bit. Hang around. Like a... an intern! Yeah. Learn from the best." He smiled shyly, averting his gaze as he scratched at his cheek.

Crowley narrowed his eyes at the Disposable Demon from behind his sunglasses. He walked on.

Eric stumbled to follow after him. “I just want to learn how to be as good as you!”

Crowley scowled and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “This is some trick. I said I wanted to be left alone.”

“No, really!” Eric protested, and he meant it. “I just want to--” he fumbled, surprised by the genuine reluctance of Crowley in the face of the contact of another demon. After all, he was just a Disposable Demon. Nothing to be worried about.

“No.” Crowley kept walking.

“But--” Eric found his cover story faltering. He really did want to learn from Crowley. But he was supposed to be a spy! Either way, he had to convince Crowley that he meant it genuinely. “But you really are the best.”

“I’m no demon worth learning from,” Crowley grumbled. “I’ve been ostracized from Hell. Get lost, kid.”

Eric balked and paused in his pursuit. But he was not going to be shut down. That just wasn’t his style. “C’mon, I’ll show you. I might be half the demon you are,” he said as he was gaining on Crowley, catching back up to him.

Crowley stopped short and turned on Eric. “Get lost. I’m not taking on trainees.”

Crowley was so mean, the way he hissed and grit his teeth, and Eric had never been more enamoured.

Eric followed Crowley for days.

Crowley changed his routine. He couldn’t have this agent of Hell who was probably spying on him just barge into Aziraphale’s bookshop. He couldn’t let this stupid little demon have any contact with Aziraphale, if he could help it.

It just wouldn’t do. Not with how things had panned out with Aziraphale. Crowley, for one, was more than happy with how things had panned out. After six thousand years, they were finally free of the bonds that tied their hands. That night, after they had sat and coalesced with the aftermath of the end of worth on a bench in Lower Tadfield, things had fallen into place. Aziraphale had taken his hand on the bus, and they had sat together quietly, reminiscing. Looking toward the uncertain future, with only a scrap of a prophecy between them.

There was no telling what fate lay before them. Aziraphale had been the first to confess his love. Crowley had only answered in a kiss. They had fallen into each other’s arms, that night at his apartment. It wasn’t how Crowley had imagined it happening--he had never imagined it happening, not really. But Aziraphale had given himself, soft and pliable, willing and wanton, into his arms. It was all Crowley could manage to let his fantasies fall into place for that one moment.

After they both survived their trials, things had been almost awkward. And yet… they both discovered that things were not so different now that they had breached that boundary. They enjoyed more lunches at the Ritz, many a night of drunk revelry celebrating their newfound freedom, and… well, there was a physical aspect, too.

But now here was this kid. Just some low-level demon, broken up into a dozen little parts, following him around like a puppy. Crowley didn’t know how long Eric had been following him, but he worried that it had been long enough that he knew the nature of his relationship with Aziraphale.

“You have an adversary!” Eric pleaded. “I don’t even have an adversary. I should have an adversary. I’m a proper demon. Been around long enough.”

Crowley shot him a look from the corner of his glasses. Adversary, huh?

“I just wanna be good enough to… to…” Eric floundered. “To fill your place, huh? I could be the new Crowley.”

Crowley smirked and spat out a laugh. “The new traitor?”

Eric blustered. “No! No, not a traitor, I mean, unless..?”

Crowley shook his head and trudged on.

Eric was banished from Crowley’s building. He was left flustered and exasperated outside, throwing his hands up in frustration until he could try again.

Crowley couldn’t avoid leaving his flat. His flat was not his sanctuary, despite his familiar trappings. But Eric wouldn’t stop following him, which meant he couldn’t go see Aziraphale. The angel had left several messages on his ansaphone, each more frustrated than the last. Aziraphale had accused him of being concerned about their Arrangement in the wake of the Apocanot. His messages trailed off entry after entry, feeding him logic about how it didn’t matter and weren’t they free from that already?

But Crowley couldn’t tell Aziraphale he was being stalked by a diminutive demon. His concern over it would just feed the intel to Hell that he gave a shit. Sure, he shouldn’t have cared. But if Hell had enough interest to send a spy after him, then he should protect his angel from their curious eyes. Honestly, he was surprised Aziraphale wasn’t under the same duress, considering how in-cahoots Gabriel and Beelzebub had seemed at the airbase. Any moment now, Aziraphale would have his own spy…

“Mr. Crowley, what are we getting up to today?” Eric would greet him every day at the base of his stairs.

Crowley groaned and nearly went back to his flat. He pulled out his phone--his only protection against Eric’s indomitable attention.

“Get lost.” Crowley stared at his phone as he stalked down the street.

“What about mixing up the signs at the train station? Haven’t done that yet. Or  _ stealing  _ someone’s cat, put it on the other side of the city?” Eric suggested, building off Crowley’s previous wiles. “Or we could go mix about Mr. Fell’s shop? You haven’t messed with him proper in a while,” Eric said excitedly.

“No! Get lost!” Crowley snapped.

Eric was hurt by Crowley’s disinterest. He paused and watched Crowley saunter away from him. Was he not good enough? But Crowley was so keen. So cool. He wanted nothing more than to learn how to be that clever, aloof, and cool.

“I’ll just shadow you,” he said, suddenly just a foot behind Crowley.

The demon jumped and staggered almost to the curb. “For Satan’s sake!” he hissed.

Eric brightened. “For Satan’s sake, yeah. Let me…”

Crowley bristled. “... Just don’t bother me, alright?”

Eric grinned. “You got it, boss,” he said softly.

Crowley sighed and looked at his phone. Another message from Aziraphale. The angel had gotten so desperate, he’d actually taken to texting him. With emojis, no less.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale finally hunts Crowley down to see why he's been avoiding his calls.

“Crowley!”

Aziraphale appeared suddenly in front of the table at the coffee shop Crowley had been frequenting. It was well into Mayfair, far enough from SoHo that Aziraphale wasn’t likely to stumble upon him. 

Crowley jumped and looked guiltily over his newspaper at Aziraphale. Eric was nursing a cappuccino beside him.

“You have been ignoring my calls for two weeks,” Aziraphlae boomed.

Eric tensed. His chair scraped the ground as he stood up defensively. Aziraphale barely spared him a glance, his eyes burning into Crowley.

Crowley growled and his paper rustled as it sank into his lap. “I’m sorry, angel. Just….”

“Just what?” Aziraphale snapped.

Crowley nodded vaguely to Eric.

Aziraphale huffed, then looked over at Eric. He recognized that look. There was a bristling of Hellish energy in that little frame. And fear--he sensed a great deal of fear.

“Oh.” Aziraphale deflated slightly. “Who’s this?”

“My brother,” Crowley shot back at Aziraphale.

Eric was trying very hard to look menacing while sporting a bit of foam on his upper lip. The exaggerated eyelashes adorning his glowering eyes didn’t do much, but they were not as un-frightening as the charming peaks of his tightly curled hair.

“Is he…?”

“He’s not my brother.”

Aziraphale looked put out. “I know that, Crowley. I’m not stupid.”

“He’s been stalking me for days. Won’t leave me alone.” Crowley shuffled his newspaper.

Eric looked from Crowley to Aziraphale, his eyes going from excited on the demon to pensive on the angel, just  _ waiting  _ for the great battle to begin. Would they fence with words? Or were the wiles and temptations about to start flying?

Aziraphale looked the young demon over. “What’s your name, dear boy?” Perhaps if he could get a name, he would get a better pin on just who this demon was.

“Eric,” the Disposable Demon growled.

Aziraphale nearly coughed on the laugh that bubbled in his throat. He brought his fist to his lips to politely stifle his amusement. “Eric,” he repeated. He exchanged a bemused look with Crowley. The demon barely flicked his eyes, indicating, ‘Yes, that’s it.’ “And what is it that brings you to Earth… Eric?” Aziraphale asked.

Eric was taken off guard by the angel’s politeness. Usually when he was addressed by angels, which wasn’t often, they spoke down to him, as if they wouldn’t touch him with a ten foot pole if they could avoid it. He shifted in his seat, then glanced at Crowley for guidance. As per usual, the traitor was aloof and mysterious as always. On his own, then.

“I’ve come to,” he started, his voice low and gravely. It was really taxing to keep his tone that low all the time. Best not. He cleared his throat and started again, “I’ve come to learn from Mr. Crowley.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale indulged sweetly. “How to be a demon, then?”

“I know how to be a demon,” Eric snapped. “Only… well… Mr. Crowley’s the best.” He brightened with a smile.

What a charming young fellow, Aziraphale thought with a sympathetic smile. “And you weren’t going to introduce me to your student,  _ Mr.  _ Crowley?”

A growl started low in Crowley’s throat and he surrendered his newspaper boundary walls to his lap with an angry crinkle. “He’s not my student. I’m not… teaching him.”

“And why not?” Aziraphale asked brightly. He looked at the two demons with a cheeky smile, then pulled out a chair for himself. “You  _ are  _ the wiliest demon I’ve ever met.”

Eric’s eyes widened as he watched Aziraphale sit down. The angel couldn’t help but notice that the little thing looked positively petrified. He was doing a poor job of disguising it.

Crowley tilted his head with a silent whining sort of expression.  _ Don’t make this worse. _

“Is this… your adversary, Mr. Crowley?” Eric asked.

Crowley’s brow tensed over his glasses as he looked at Eric.

“Why yes,” Aziraphale supplied. “Great… adversaries, we are. Been… waging the battle between good and evil since the beginning.” His eyes were wide and indulgent, his lips pursed to contain his amusement.

“‘Course you have…” It dawned on Eric. He had brought the Hellfire for Aziraphale’s trial. He’d seen the angel survive it. Not just any angel could withstand Hellfire. And that  _ look  _ Aziraphale had given him. That look still haunted him.

How come he wasn’t giving him that look now? He looked proper angelic now. When he’d first come up, Eric had seen that Hellfire-immune glower. But now he was just smiling like anything.

“Yes, Crowley is a mastermind of evil,” Aziraphale insisted. “He’s kept me on my toes for millennia.”

Eric was enthralled.

“You know he started this whole mess.” Aziraphale waved his hand vaguely.

Crowley gave Aziraphale a frown and mimicked his vague hand wave.

Aziraphale got the cue and clarified. “All this… sin business. He tempted Adam and Eve in the Garden. Made a right mess of Paradise.”

“Course I know that. Everybody knows that,” Eric said proudly.

“That was where I first met him. There on the Garden wall. I was the Guardian of the Eastern Gate, then…”

Aziraphale told Eric of Crowley’s greatest wiles, stretching the tales as tall as they would go. After a while, Crowley just gave up and started snapping back, filling in the bits where Aziraphale would step in and ‘thwart’ him.

Eric was absolutely star struck. And to be sitting here! With the great Mr. Crowley and his adversary Mr. Fell!

“Are you sure you want to study under such a terrible, mean old demon?” Aziraphale asked in a low, warning voice.

Crowley had given up on reigning Aziraphale in. Instead, he had surrendered his newspaper and was now leaning on his fist, elbow on the table, watching Aziraphale mug at Eric. His expression could only be described as fond, but Eric didn’t seem to have ‘fond’ in his vocabulary. (Unless it had to do with the tasty bits at the bottom of a pot.)

“Yeah! I’ve learned a lot just from following him around and the like,” Eric said eagerly.

Aziraphale looked sidelong at Crowley, and the demon felt his stomach drop as that bastard smile crept over his lips. He was about to reach out, to strangle or smother his angel and keep his bloody stupid-clever mouth shut, but Aziraphale, ever so good at talking, just barrelled right on.

“I should hope he won’t take you on as a student. I don’t know how I would ever keep up with more demons from Crowley’s school!”

Eric’s eyes glittered with promise.

Crowley knew exactly what Aziraphale was doing. He was just going to keep riling Eric up until he was absolutely insufferable. And for what--so Crowley would teach him how to be a good person at heart?

Well, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Another demon out there--a multiplicity of demons, really--who weren’t bad so much as not-good, and sometimes, on occasion, actually quite good on the whole.

But Crowley didn’t have time for this kind of nonsense.

Apparently Aziraphale thought he had all the time in the world.

Eric was staring at him, pleading in a way that should have looked desperate--that was a proper demonic expression--but instead looked downright enamoured, begging.

“Come on, Mr. Crowley. I can help you wile and tempt your adversary.”

Crowley sat up sharply at that, practically lunging at Eric.

The Disposable Demon leapt back a fraction with a gasp that sounded a bit like ‘meep.’

“No,” Crowley growled. “He’s  _ my  _ adversary. I don’t share.”

Eric nodded quickly.

Aziraphale put a freshly manicured hand on the table--just far enough toward Crowley to get his attention. He gave him a soft look that had the tension sliding off Crowley like whatever water slides off.

Crowley sighed. “... Fine. I’ll… take you under my wing,” he said flippantly with mock import.

Eric beamed with delight. “Thank you, Mr. Crowley! You won’t regret it. I’ll be wiling and tempting--I’ll make you proud.”

Crowley nodded blandly and shot Aziraphale a look. “You better watch out,  _ adversary, _ ” Crowley growled at his angel.

Aziraphale looked so satisfied with himself. Crowley was going to wipe that smirk off his face. If he could ever get a moment alone.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale invites Crowley to bring his new apprentice by the bookshop, while the angel continues to gently nudge his demon into the role of 'godfather' once again.

“What were you thinking?” Crowley hissed in a low voice.

Aziraphale had invited Crowley and his freshly minted student back to the bookshop in a roundabout way that sounded less like an invitation and more like ‘I hope you don’t come pestering me at the bookshop.’ The angel had kindly broken out the scotch so has to soften Crowley’s spiked edges about the whole thing.

Eric was exploring the main shop area, checking for angelic traps among the shelves. Instead, he found himself coming across little sparks of evil here and there. Must’ve been Crowley’s doing, he thought proudly.

“I was thinking,” Aziraphale said as he poured a glass for Crowley, “that you would make a fine influence on a young demon.”

“He’s not exactly young,” Crowley muttered and snatched the proffered glass out of Aziraphale’s hand.

“You may be all for retirement, but the forces of Heaven and Hell aren’t just going to stop because they’ve ousted us. This is an opportunity, Crowley.” The angel walked over to his best friend and touched his arm. “An opportunity to tip the scales. Just a little bit.”

Crowley growled into his glass, but his hand found Aziraphale’s.

“You’ll be a marvelous influence on the boy,” Aziraphale said warmly.

The warmth of Aziraphale’s tone went right to Crowley’s cheeks. He grunted noncommittally.

“You were a lovely godfather once before.” Aziraphale’s gaze drifted thoughtfully, one brow raised. “I mean, you could revisit that… Outfit and all…”

Crowley choked on his scotch and lowered the glass onto a side table. “Bastard,” he laughed.

Aziraphale’s sunny smile met Crowley once more.

“Mr. Crowley?” Eric called, and the traitors’ hands jerked away as if struck by a bolt of lightning.

“What?” Crowley called back and stalked up to the shop from the back room.

“You spend a lot of time in this bookshop, huh?” Eric had a book in his hands. He wasn’t being particularly careful with it--it was just a book, after all--but to Aziraphale’s hawk-like gaze, he was  _ manhandling  _ it.

Aziraphale whizzed past Crowley and snatched the book out of Eric’s hands with true fervor. “Do not touch the books!”

Eric jumped back and put his hands up defensively. “Yes, sir! Sorry, Mr. Adversary, sir!”

The young demon’s silly title took the fire out of Aziraphale. His hands smoothed over the book, as if to soothe any harm the demon had done to it, and his brow softened. “You don’t have to call me that, Eric. Just… Mr. Fell is fine, if you must.”

Eric was terrified of Mr. Fell. The angel was syrupy sweet, angelic as you please, one moment, and the next he was all smiting fury and a chorus of angels going to war. How Mr. Crowley had warred against him all this time without getting smitten--smote?--was beyond him.

“Yeah, I spend a lot of time here,” Crowley cut in. He sauntered over to Aziraphale and propped an arm on his shoulder. “Pesterin’ Mr. Fell. Keep him from selling any books.”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley with a kind of wonder, just barely able to contain his affection. “Why, yes. Quite.”

Eric was quite baffled by the look that the angel was giving Crowley. It must have been something… good, because he couldn’t make heads or tails of it. Was Aziraphale thwarting Crowley  _ right now _ ?

“If it weren’t for this wily old serpent, I’d be up to my ears in sales! Drat, you foul fiend!”

Crowley laughed, easily at first, and then with an exaggerated cackle.

Aziraphale tried not to laugh and shot Crowley a warning look.  _ Tone it down, dear. _

_ _

“Now, then,” Crowley said. “Let me tempt you to something to drink.”

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows, then glanced at Eric. “Yes, and I’ll… thwart you from any further temptation.” It was a lame excuse, but Eric seemed to buy it.

The Disposable Demon had not, apparently, indulged in the temptation of alcohol much. He was hardly three glasses--albeit big glasses--of wine in before he was nodding off on the couch.

Aziraphale smiled at him, sweet as you please, and got to his feet. He took a tartan throw blanket from the back of the settee and draped it over the demon, tucking him in.

“So he doesn’t drool all over my furniture,” Aziraphale defended as Crowley shot him a soft look, softened all the more by the wine. They were far from drunk, but the edge had pleasantly been blurred.

“You know he’s going to just be trouble,” Crowley muttered. “How long are we going to keep up this charade of being adversaries?” Crowley chomped on the word ‘adversaries’ as if it were a particularly crunchy and unpleasant thing.

Aziraphale chuckled into his wine glass and took a sip. “Whatever do you mean, my dear?”

Crowley slid his arm over the back of the couch. They had started by sitting down on opposite ends, but with each progressive glass had returned to the couch with fewer inches between them. Now they were so close that with a slide of his leg, Crowley’s thigh rested against Aziraphale’s.

“We  _ are  _ adversaries,” Aziraphale said in a low voice.

Crowley grinned. His hand moved with a mind of its own, tickling the curls at the nape of Aziraphale’s neck.

The angel settled comfortably against Crowley’s side and watched the snoring demon across from them. “I didn’t know demons could be so precious,” he said sweetly.

Crowley looked doubtfully at Eric. “He’s not precious, angel. He’s just stupid.”

“Harmless,” Aziraphale countered.

Crowley winced. “Mostly harmless, I s’ppose.”

“Where is he staying, dear?” Aziraphale asked. “With you?” He looked surprised.

“Fuck no,” Crowley laughed. “I dunno where he’s staying.”

Aziraphale hopped back from Crowley and looked aghast. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

Crowley shot back with equal defensiveness. “I don’t know! He’s always waiting for me right outside my flat. Morning, noon, and night.”

Aziraphale frowned at Crowley. “Really, Crowley. That’s very unkind of you, leaving a poor boy on the streets like that.”

“Poor boy? Poor boy--he’s a demon, Aziraphale. He could go back down to Hell anytime he likes. Not like he needs to sleep or eat. He’s not some poor little street urchin, for Heaven’s sake.”

“He adores you, Crowley! How could you?” Aziraphale tutted remonstrably.

“He’s stalking me, angel,” Crowley growled. “Would you invite a stalker to come stay with you?”

“If you’re going to do this properly,” Aziraphale said primly, “You have to show the boy a bit of kindness.”

“Demons aren’t  _ kind, _ ” Crowley seethed.

“Precisely.” Aziraphale fixed Crowley with a burning stare. “You know exactly what my intentions were when I insisted you tutor him.”

Crowley rubbed at his temples with one hand and slumped. “I know, angel.”

“So at least  _ one  _ demon has to show a bit of kindness.”

“You want me to let him stay with me?”

“Well, he’s certainly not staying with me. Where would I put him?”

Crowley looked incredulously at Aziraphale and swung his arm wide. “Got more space than me.”

“It’s a bookshop, Crowley, not a boarding house.”

The demon narrowed his eyes at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale’s face was implacable. That look that said he would gladly wait another six thousand years before he changed his mind. Crowley couldn’t break that look. Never had.

“Fine,” he relented. “Let him stay at my flat.”

“Good.”  _ That  _ broke Aziraphale’s stony look--Crowley’s surrender. He smiled warmly. “Best to keep an eye on him. You never know--he might be in contact with Hell, after all.”

Crowley shook his head, brows narrowed in doubt. “That kid? Nah. He’s just an errand boy. I know the sort. Multiplicity, that one. Dozens of corporations, one braincell.”

Aziraphale tilted his head curiously. “A… multiplicity?”

“Yeah, like a hivemind whatsit.”

“Must be a lot of paperwork, having so many corporations.”

“Ehh, they make good use of it--Hell, that is. Use him for dangerous errands, or to… test things, I dunno. Not my department.” Crowley took a sip of wine. “I think the rules are different. Somethin’.”

Aziraphale looked on at the demon drooling on his tartan throw with a new kind of sympathy. He was just a guinea pig. A sort of test dummy. And considering that lot in life, he was so sweet. Perhaps he was a bit dumb, but his admiration for Crowley was real. Any demon that could come from Hell after Crowley had been labeled traitor and call him mentor couldn’t be  _ all  _ bad.

The angel sighed as the demon returned to his side, laying his head tucked up against his neck. “Godfathers again, hm…” he mused.

Crowley smiled, despite himself. “Godfathers again, I guess.”


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley goes over some house rules with his new tenant and student. Eric learns about the demonic nature of plant care and maintenance.

“Now, house rules,” Crowley said as he let Eric into his flat. “Don’t touch anything.”

Eric stepped into Crowley’s lair with trepidation and tried to take in everything at once. He’d never been inside a real human abode before. Certainly not in the 21st century. It was all smooth, gray walls and Persian rugs and fiddly bits of human art.

Crowley led the way through the sitting room, which was sparsely decorated with a white leather couch and matching chair. There was a large sound system taking up one wall. Opposite the sitting room was the kitchen. It was all marble and shiny fixtures that looked like they had never been used.

“Cor, this is a whole bloody mansion you’ve got here,” Eric breathed.

Crowley couldn’t help the smile that came to his lips. “It’s alright,” he shrugged. He pushed open the door to the spot that had been the final resting place of one Duke of Hell. Thankfully, Adam had restored the place and Crowley hadn’t had to scrape up the remains of his former colleague.

None the wiser, Eric followed into the study. He was taking everything in with so many turns, Crowley thought he might get dizzy. “Nice chair,” Eric beamed.

Crowley continued the tour through the revolving door into his room of plants.

“Wow. I didn’t know you kept plants.” It seemed like a strange hobby for a demon, but who was Eric to judge? If Mr. Crowley kept plants, there must’ve been something to it. He reached out to touch one of the large, perfectly green leaves as he passed.

“Might I remind you,” Crowley snapped, “the house rules.”

Eric jerked his hand back suddenly. “No touching,” he squeaked.

Crowley stopped in the middle of the plant room and pointed down the hall. “You see that statue?” he asked.

Eric peered down the hall and saw a large statue of arching wings and a tangle of limbs. “Yeah?” he said, looking up at Crowley.

“You do not go past that statue. Understood?”

Eric blinked up at Crowley, then nodded. He hesitated, then asked, “Why?”

“Because my bedroom is past there, and I don’t want you fucking bothering me while I sleep.”

“Oh.” Eric gave a little nod. “You sleep, Mr. Crowley?”

“Course I sleep.” Crowley gave a toothy grin. “Best way to waste time. Wasting time is an easy sin. Plus, it’s nice--er,” Crowley faltered a moment. “I mean, it’s… pleasurable,” there, that was a bit more on-brand, “sleeping is.”

Eric nodded slowly as he tucked that bit of wisdom away in his brain. “Gotcha.” He looked around the plant room, up to the ceiling and back down. “What sorts of plants are these?” he asked. The only thing he really knew about plants was that there was an avocado grove at the end of the world. And there had been a Garden at the beginning of it. Maybe there was something inherently occult about plants.

Crowley lifted a brow at Eric. Even Aziraphale had hardly asked about his collection of plants. “This one’s  _ Epipremnum aureum, _ ” he began, indicating a thick-stemmed vine with heart-shaped, striadated leaves. “This here’s  _ Dieffenbachia, _ ” a stalky set of canes topped with broad paddle-like leaves, “ _ Peperomia, _ ” a stout spread of thready branches and fleshy leaves, some crowned with a spear-like cone, “ _ Ficus lyrata _ ,” a meticulously pruned series of narrow trunks with proud, fiddle-shaped leaves.

Eric scoffed and interrupted Crowley. The demon stopped short and shot Eric a look. “Sorry,” Eric cut in with a little laugh. “I didn’t mean to get a botany lesson. I was only asking what  _ sorts  _ of plants they were.”

Crowley fixed Eric with his impenetrable shaded stare, narrowed muscles radiating from the bridge of his nose.

Eric shrank a bit. “L-like… are they poisonous? O-or, like, um… carnivorous?”

Crowley balked. “No,” he said, incredulous. “They’re just… plants.”

The tension drained out of Eric--for the most part. Crowley was still towering over him, all sharp angles and judgement. Eric never had the benefit of towering over anyone; the tension he always carried right between his shoulderblades, up the column of his often-gulping throat, came from centuries of being yelled down at, supplicating himself to the mercy of his superiors.

“Just… plants,” Eric repeated with a meek smile.

Crowley recognized that look in Eric. It was the kind of practiced tension he saw in Aziraphale when his bully bosses came around. He took a step back and sank into a more comfortable posture. He didn’t want to put the fear of Hell into this kid--not like that. He wasn’t  _ that  _ kind of demon.

“Just plants,” Crowley repeated. “It’s like a… hobby.”

“Oh, so another way to waste time?” Eric asked eagerly.

“Not a waste of time!” Crowley snapped, and like Pavlov’s bell, Eric flinched. A muscle in his jaw tightened as he forced himself patience. He was well versed in patience, wasn’t he? Well, at least where angels--one, particular angel--were concerned. Something about being around another demon made him all jagged edges and conflict.

“A hobby…” he sighed, “It’s like a human thing, you know?” Crowley took a step toward Eric and planted a hand on his shoulder. There was a flash in those wide, dark eyes, as if Eric knew he was moments away from discorporation. “You know how I got into Hell’s really bad books?” Crowley went on amiably. “Doing human shit.”

Eric was momentarily stunned by the touch. He’d never been touched, even in passing, by another demon if it wasn’t to destroy him. Not that he craved touch as a self-respecting demon--and there was always enough of himself so that he didn’t feel abjectly lonely. It was just strange.

“You know the best way to make plants grow?” Crowley asked, a grin creeping over his lips.

Eric was still stunned into silence, and he shook his head.

“You talk to them.” Crowley gave Eric’s shoulder a pat, then turned on his garden. The leaves began to tremble in anticipation. They were always listening. “Are you putting on your best show for my guest?” Crowley demanded, his voice deep and sibilant.

Eric not only heard the terrified rustling, but could  _ feel  _ the fear emanating from the plants. Before his very eyes, he saw stalks fighting to straighten themselves, canes creaking in effort to bolster their leaves, vines creeping to drape themselves more beautifully.

“What self-respecting  _ Lyrata  _ droops like that?” Crowley snapped. “I better not see any wilting!” The red-headed demon held command of the room as if a general before his troops, intolerant of any flaw in decorum or decoration. “You-- _ Sansevieria trifasciata, _ ” he rattled off the name as if it were the simplest staccato arrangement of syllables, “I’ve got my eye on you.” He pointed a threatening finger at a spray of tall, slender leaves that fought to straighten themselves stock-straight.

Eric was floored--Crowley not only had command of man, but of  _ nature,  _ too.

Crowley turned back to Eric to find the younger demon absolutely beaming at him. “That’s amazing, Mr. Crowley!”

Crowley had made an effort to have as little to do with other demons as possible--ever since hanging with the wrong crowd had ended up in a million mile nose-dive into the deepest pit. The less he had to consort with the other Dukes of Hell and his boss, the better. That left him with few options for company, amiable or otherwise. Humans were alright, but it was hard to connect with such ephemeral beings that would be dead in the blink of an immortal eye. Sharing the wonders of the universe was generally frowned upon, as well, so not much basis to connect on. Crowley had shown one human all the kingdoms of the world, but that was the exception, not the rule.

He’d never been a teacher, or a mentor, much less a role model. Avoided the opportunity, really. Chatting with early astronomers about their novel discoveries over a cup of sea-dark wine was one thing, sharing his intimate knowledge at their schools was quite another. Discussions of the minutiae of the antiquities fueled by too-detailed personal memories toed the line of appropriate, and Crowley always drew the line at invitations to guest-lecture or record his vast expertise on the subjects.

He suddenly found himself mentor to the most unlikely student--another denizen of Hell. Well, it would be a learning experience. For the both of them.

“Plants are predictable. They  _ want  _ to grow better. Just need a little… encouragement,” Crowley explained. “Not like people.” He frowned. “Now  _ humans,  _ they’re unpredictable.” Crowley looked around the room, then back at the starry-eyed demon. “Best practice on plants, first.”

“Yes!” Eric agreed enthusiastically. “I’ll be tellin’ ‘em off left and right.”

Crowley smiled slowly. “Alright. We’ll get you a plant of your very own.” He shot a look at his own plants, and they gave a grateful shiver that Crowley wasn’t going to turn a novice loose on them.

“When?” Eric asked eagerly. The impatience was strong through that demonic lack of filter.

Crowley smirked at Eric. “Well, we’ll have to figure out what kind of plant you want…”

“An avocado,” Eric replied immediately.

The demon’s glasses slid a fraction down his nose, surprised Eric had an answer so readily. “An… avocado?” A strange answer, to say the least. Sure, avocado-toast had been a little something he’d whipped up and made viral, but it was yet another in a long line of small-action, big-reward jobs he’d done that received a lackluster smattering of applause from below. Avocado-toast wasn’t  _ inherently  _ evil; a disappointment, but not a failure.

“They grow on trees,” Eric supplied.

“Yeah, I know what avocados are,” Crowley snorted. “Why an avocado?”

“There was an avocado grove at the end of the world.”

Crowley squinted at Eric. “Not to my recollection. Don’t think they grow avocados in Tadfield.”

“Nah, in Meggido.”

“ _ Oh, _ ” Crowley’s voice dropped like a lead weight. “Right. Meggido.” He stopped short. “You were at Meggido?”

“Yeah,” Eric replied easily. “Arranged the whole thing for Duke Hastur. He was in a right mood, he was. Discorporated all three of me.” Eric had thought his joke was damned funny--had all his corporations in a laugh riot--but Duke Hastur’s reaction made him reticent to repeat it.

Eric said it so plainly, it poked Crowley right in the chest, jabbed him like an accusing finger. How could he treat this demon like any of the rest? Crowley had been mocked and poked at by the rest of Hell, but they at least gave him the agency to do it to his face and not  _ destroy  _ him for the slightest infraction.

“Hm,” was all Crowley managed. He straightened his glasses. “An avocado.” His lips quirked in a smile. Growing an avocado was a time investment. Sure, it would grow supernaturally quickly with demonic insistence, but it still meant he was signing him up for  _ weeks,  _ at least, of tutoring Eric. Was he really doing this?

“Takes a while to grow an avocado. Means you’ll be stuck with me for weeks. You really ready for that kind of commitment?” Crowley was asking himself the same question.

“Yessir, Mr. Crowley,” Eric replied promptly. He straightened himself up, heels together, and saluted the senior demon. This was it--this meant Crowley was really going to mentor him. It wasn’t just a handshake and a throw-away promise: now their contract would have physical form. Beelzebub’s order to stay away from Crowley was the furthest possible thing from his mind. He would file his reports,  _ and  _ he would return to Hell ten times--no, a hundred times the demon he’d been.

“Alright, an avocado it is.”


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale receives an unfortunate visit from his former bosses. Eric gets fired up at the opportunity to take on a worthy adversary.

“The point isn’t to scare the living daylights out of them, Eric,” Crowley was saying as he pushed open the door to the bookshop. “You’ll scare them right back to God. How many times?”

Eric shuffled in behind Crowley glumly. “Sorry, Mr. Crowley,” he said in a low voice. “It’s  _ hard,  _ stuffin’ down all the, y’know,  _ evil  _ I got in me.” 

Aziraphale poked his head around from behind a bookshelf. “Boys, if you please,” he said primly. “Refrain from work talk until you’re in the  _ back  _ room, thank you.” There was, in fact, no one in the bookshop, but not for lack of being open on the rare Tuesday afternoon.

Crowley jerked his chin toward Aziraphale as he sauntered through the shop with his hands stuffed in his pockets. “Hullo to you, too.”

Aziraphale bristled, eyes following the sullen demon until he passed the threshold.

“Sorry, Mr. Fell,” Eric said.

The angel softened on poor Eric who looked down-trodden after yet another apparent failure. “Hullo, Eric. How was the lesson?” he asked, leaning further to catch him, but only got a despondent sigh in return.

“You gotta be subtle, kid,” Crowley went on and slumped into one of the settees with such a lack of decorum, Aziraphale would have balked.

Crowley was not a fan of  _ work. _ He had spent most of his existence finding ways to avoid doing work, and when necessary,  _ inventing  _ new ways of employing sloth and delegating the work to someone else. Most of his commendations had been for things the humans came up with themselves, for Satan’s sake. How was it that now, in his supposed (perhaps forced) retirement, he was doing more work than he’d done in centuries? Even rerouting the M25 hadn’t been this much work.

Eric plopped down on the couch opposite Crowley and tugged the sock hat from his head. After only a moment’s delay, his peaked hair snapped back to attention. While there were many outlandish styles to be seen in London, his hair seemed to draw too much undue attention. His hair itself couldn’t be tamed--not on just one corporation when there were thousands more that reinforced the standard--so sock hat it was.

Eric had lost his composure trying to impress Crowley again. He felt like he couldn’t do anything right. Just when he thought he had it figured out, Crowley would cancel the exercise and drag him off from his startled target. The worst part was when Crowley  _ apologized  _ for him--to the human in question. It was humiliating.

“What d’I tell you?” Crowley felt like a school marm--but without the snappy dress. Maybe he  _ would  _ get better results in a severe marm get-up. Seemed to have worked on a five year old boy… Ah, he shouldn’t be so hard on Eric, but thwarting the over-the-top wiles of an overeager demon was exhausting.

“You can’t damn a soul in one go,” Eric repeated by rote as he twisted his hat in his hands.

“You’re in no rush,” Crowley reminded him. “It’s these humans that are always in a rush. All it takes is a little… subtle push.” It had been two weeks and they were still working on subtle wiles. Crowley had wanted to move onto tipping the balance, finding the good in evil and vice versa, but if he couldn’t mute Eric’s antics, only disaster awaited. First, he had to tune down that impulsive  _ evil  _ in him. Eric was a demon of impulse and instinct. Crowley was beginning to wonder if nature would ultimately win over nurture.

The demon sighed. He didn’t want to be hard on Eric, but it wasn’t like the demon was going to respond to gentle remonstration. Still, a little positive reinforcement didn’t hurt. “You did good at the turn-style, knocking all those cards loose, holding up the whole line of commuters,” he offered in a lilting voice.

Eric looked up at Crowley and managed a small smile. “Really?” he asked.

“Yeahh,” Crowley allowed and folded his arms behind his head, legs splayed lazily before him. “We’ll have another go in a bit,” he sighed.

Both demons twitched their attention to the threshold between the back room and the shop as a flutter of celestial aura trickled in like a stench. Eric assumed it was Aziraphale. Crowley’s adversary was always trying to ply him with encouragement, tempting him with goodness. It tickled, like a sneeze he couldn’t get out, but he ultimately found himself surrendering to the biscuits and kind words. It would build up his tolerance--just like Crowley.

Crowley recognized that stench, and it was not his angel. “Shit.” He scrambled to his feet and was across the room in two long strides to grab Eric by the sleeve. “Come on.”

“What is it, Mr. Crowley?” Eric asked, stumbling as he was dragged deeper into the shop. Eric could never get a mark on how many rooms there actually were in the bookshop. It felt bigger every time he got a better look around, and certainly made no sense given the dimensions from the street.

“Archangels,” Crowley whispered. He staggered as he sought the right hiding place. It would look pretty damned bad if they were caught here, but Crowley wasn’t about to leave Aziraphale to fend for himself if the Archangels had come to ruffle his feathers.

“A-Archangels?” Eric gasped. He was speechless for a moment. As the great angels drew nearer, Eric recognized that feeling in his gut, all along his flesh; it was  _ cold,  _ like the heat was being seeped from him. “Oh, we’re gonna get the jump on ‘em, are we?” Eric whispered as Crowley shuffled him into an awkward corner.

“No!” Crowley hissed. “You might have endless corporations, but I don’t. I’m quite attached to this one. And I don’t fancy a trip Downstairs to fetch a new one.”

Eric nodded. “O-oh. Right. But—”

“ _ Shhh!”  _ The sound was unmistakably serpent-like and shut Eric’s mouth tight. Crowley crouched down and dragged Eric with him, pulling a curtain across the small doorway into a little corner of the backroom stuffed with even more books, with just enough of a crack that he could see through to the threshold of the shop.

The bell on the front door chimed. Crowley couldn’t see who entered, but he sensed footfalls, perception heightened in this dire moment. Just what the hell did the Archangels want with Aziraphale now? Crowley thought he had appropriately put the fear of God, or Satan, or someone, into them at Aziraphale’s joke of a trial.

Eric had been on Earth long enough that the Heavenly presence of Archangels fresh from Head Office made his throat tighten. He clutched onto his hat to still the shiver that ethereal aura struck through him. Crowley shoved his head to the side as his hair tickled the demon’s chin, but Eric fought to keep his eye pressed to the crack in the curtain.

Aziraphale had been caught unawares before by his boss and his cronies. Such was not the case now. It had only been a month since Armagenot, and while Crowley and Aziraphale had toasted to their successful disentanglement from Heaven and Hell, they had hardly been born yesterday. Given their six thousand year history with the ethereal and the occult, they knew better than to expect their bosses wouldn’t come crawling out of the woodwork, determined to have the last word.

Aziraphale had felt the same ping on his celestial radar that Crowley and Eric had felt on their occult ones. He sighed, giving up on his subtle rearrangement project, and gave a brief side-long glance at the back room. He heard the scuffle of two demons scrambling to hide themselves. With a wave of his hand, he created a door--bolted shut--between the shop and the back room. The minor miracle might be recorded, but the paperwork would take longer to process than Aziraphale expected this interaction to last.

The shop bell rung as the broad-shouldered frame of Aziraphale’s least favorite boss entered, his usual troupe filing in behind in a wave of pale-colored suits.

“ _ Former  _ Principality,” Gabriel greeted him in a haughty tone, as if he were above speaking the name of the traitor. Michael stepped in after him with a smile that was more sneer. Spreading out in a fan of celestial glory came Uriel and Sandalphon. The look on the former’s face made Aziraphale expect them to be wielding an eager fist, while the latter’s expression never ceased to sour his attempt at pleasantness.

“Gabriel,” Aziraphale chirped in a clipped tone. “The whole staff.” He raised a brow. “To what do I owe the, ah… pleasure?” Crowley had not given him the full details of his side of the trial up in Heaven, but sufficed to say, Aziraphale didn’t owe them any favors.

“You are still technically under our jurisdiction,” Gabriel said broadly, his hands folded in front of himself, ever the businessman. “Loathe as I am to say it.” His smile dimmed, eyes just a tint shy of glowering.

“Oh, am I?” Aziraphale asked. “Trouble?” He affected concern in his tone, but his expression dripped with false pity.

Gabriel’s smile turned downright sardonic. “I would have sent a memo, but,” he sighed, “you never were particularly receptive to written repercussions, were you?”

Aziraphale stiffened. He could hear the threat in Gabriel’s tone. It was one thing to feel the confidence of ex-communication, and it was very much another to hear that tone in his boss’s voice once more. He found himself wringing his hands, as he had countless times under Gabriel’s gaze.

The chorus of angels moved forward as one organism. Aziraphale felt Crowley’s familiar aura spike with adrenaline, and he twisted his hands in an effort to still him. The angel otherwise remained still, though he could not hide the flutter of fear in his angelic heart. He swallowed, determined not to give Gabriel and his staff the pleasure of seeing his trepidation.

“Your  _ job  _ as an angel? Has been terminated,” Gabriel informed him, leaning forward to exert his physical advantage over Aziraphale.

“It would be best if you stopped all contact with humans,” Michael informed him in a sickly-sweet voice.

“You would be  _ wise  _ to quit mucking about,” Uriel intoned.

“This shop… it’s a bit much, isn’t it?” Sandalphon drawled.

Aziraphale turned a frown on Sandalphon, and his eyes flicked down to make sure the angel wasn’t touching anything. “It’s my shop. It hasn’t got anything to do with you lot. Or with Heaven,” Aziraphale said primly and met Gabriel’s intense purple gaze.

“ _ Everything  _ has to do with us. Creation.” Gabriel spread his palms. “Her’s is the Kingdom of Heaven and Earth.”

Aziraphale was this close from telling Gabriel to stop quoting celestial platitudes at him. As if he didn’t know.

“Owning a shop where you sell these… material possessions,” his lips curled in a deprecating sneer, “means a great deal of interaction with humans.”

“We would hate to have to use undue  _ force  _ to police your contact with humans,” Michael said in a tone that explicitly stated they would like nothing more than to have the excuse to use excessive force.

“You may no longer be in the employ of Heaven,” Gabriel said, “But you are on the Earthly plane.” He smiled with false pity. “I’m afraid that means you’re still under our purview.” He clasped his hands to cut off any retort from Aziraphale.

“We’ll be watching you,” Uriel promised like a threat.

“Just because you don’t fill out any paperwork doesn’t mean we don’t.” Gabriel gave him a sunny smile. “Be seeing you, Aziraphale.” The smile soured, poisoned by Aziraphale’s name.

Gabriel turned on his heel and the other angels followed suit. Uriel knocked a book off a table on their way out, glaring daggers over their shoulder. Aziraphale’s hackles raised, blue eyes burning set in his kind face.

Sandalphon was the last to the door and he paused. He sniffed the air and narrowed his eyes at Aziraphale. “Something smells  _ evil  _ in here.” His lips slowly split into a smile, the golden cross glinting between his teeth. “I, for one, look forward to overseeing your observation  _ very  _ closely.”

The bell chimed in their wake and Aziraphale swiftly snapped to lock the door behind the archangels. Almost at the same time, the newly-added doors slammed open before a very angry demon. Even with his sunglasses on, Aziraphale knew Crowley’s eyes had gone full yellow and veined in furious red.

“Those assholes! Coming in here, thinking they can tell  _ you  _ what to do!” Crowley growled, rushing at the door. Eric was quick on his heels. The little demon went right up to the glass pane in the door to catch a peek of the retreating backs of pale, perfectly tailored suits.

“Get away from the door,” Aziraphale scolded them both and hurried over, dragging them back by the scruffs of their coats. “You managed not to get caught. Don’t tempt fate.”

“Who cares if they see me?” Crowley roared and shoved Aziraphale’s arm off him. “Let them see! They don’t control us anymore, angel.”

Eric let Aziraphale drag him back and watched the interaction between his teacher and the angel closely. He’d never seen Crowley actually lose his temper.

“I can be here if I bloody want. And you can keep your damned bookshop. Nothing they can do about it.”

Aziraphale watched Crowley rage, patient.

“I-  _ You  _ didn’t take a shower in Hellfire to have them come ‘round and rattle your cage! The nerve!” Crowley stalked angrily toward the back room, then turned on his heel and paced back. “If they think they can fucking bully you—” Crowley waved an angry finger.

“I know, dear,” Aziraphale said. His voice was so eerily calm it made Eric shiver. The angel glanced at Eric and released his coat, giving his shoulder a little brush. Eric jerked his coat by the front to straighten it in protest.

“They don’t want you causing any trouble? I’ll cause them some fucking trouble,” Crowley growled.

“Yeah,” Eric piped up. “Yeah, nobody bullies Mr. Crowley’s adversary! Nobody but Mr. Crowley hisself.”

Aziraphale and Crowley both turned to look at Eric. The little demon was all puffed up, jaw set in a way that was meant to be tough, but just pushed his lower lip out like a pout. 

“I been looking to get myself an adversary,” Eric said proudly. “Seems the Almighty might’a dropped a brood of ‘em right into my lap!”

Aziraphale’s brow creased in concern. Crowley’s tense fury cracked into a bark of a laugh.

Eric frowned. “What’re you laughin’ at, Mr. Crowley?”

“That’s awful sweet, kid, but—”

“I ain’t sweet!” Eric growled and stomped a defiant foot toward Crowley.

Aziraphale covered his mouth, but was too late to smother the titter of amusement.

“Not you too, Mr. Fell,” Eric said, crestfallen.

“Oh, Eric, dear boy,” Aziraphale said and took the young man by the shoulders. He could feel the way the demon tensed under his touch, so he lifted his hands away gently. “You’re coming along in your training, but…”

“Don’t bite off more than you can chew,” Crowley supplied as he planted his hands on his hips. “Leave the assholes to me.”

“No one,” Aziraphale said firmly, “is going to be fighting any archangels.”

The fire in Aziraphale’s gaze stamped out some of the fire of Crowley’s fury. He knew better than to fight with that look. Eric had seen that look before, and he bit his tongue.

“I’ve ejected my fair share of profiteers from my shop.” Aziraphale straightened his coat. “I can fend for myself, thank you very much.”

“Come on, angel,” Crowley groaned. “At least let me punch Uriel in their smug face. I’ll leave Gabriel for you,” he tried to bargain.

“They’re all talk, Crowley. It’s just some ploy to make my life unpleasant.” Aziraphale adjusted his bow-tie. “Now, let’s put all that ugliness behind us and have a cup of tea.”

“I’m gonna need something stronger than tea,” Crowley grumbled.

Aziraphale lifted a brow. “Perhaps that is appropriate.”

Eric frowned at Aziraphale and Crowley’s backs as they walked together into the back room. Crowley always seemed so satisfied being around his adversary, like it completed him. A demon on Earth was meant to have an angelic adversary. Did both of them really have so little confidence in him?

He knew if he had his own adversary, he would feel whole, complete like Crowley. It would make him a better demon. Damn what they thought was best for him! He was gonna find himself an adversary, and prove that he could be just like Crowley.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley helps Eric workshop his adversarial challenge, and Eric sets off to address said challenge.

Eric went right to work. His first task was to craft the perfect declaration of his intentions. He couldn’t just go up and attack an angel--he needed to state his intent, so they knew this was a proper rivalry. Was there paperwork to be filed for an adversary? Well, he’d deal with that later. He didn’t think Lord Beelzebub would exactly be thrilled with his amendments to the mission he’d been tasked with. 

Ask for forgiveness, not permission. That was the demon way.

Crowley woke to the sound of Eric talking in his study. He bolted up in bed and strained his ears. Who was Eric talking to? He threw back the sheets and got out of bed. Just who did Eric think he was, letting someone into his flat? He stormed from the bedroom, through the hot-house, and slammed open the revolving door.

But Eric was alone. He stopped short when Crowley suddenly appeared. “Morning, Mr. Crowley.”

“... What are you doing?” Crowley asked. The anger melted away as he looked around the room and confirmed that Eric was alone. He sank slowly toward the doorway, leaning his shoulder against it.

“Practicing,” Eric replied with a grin.

Crowley raised a brow.

Eric always felt more nervous when he could see Crowley’s serpentine eyes. They made the demon look even more evil and intimidating (the very reason he hid them). Eric fiddled with his scarf a bit, adjusting it around his neck. “I’m working on my statement of intent! For my adversary.”

Crowley crossed his arms with a whisper of black silk and jerked his chin up. “Let’s hear it, then.” He was hoping he could distract Eric from this whole adversary business with more lessons. Eric was a simple demon, easily lured away from this foolishness. But why not see what the kid had come up with?

Eric looked at Crowley wide-eyed for a moment, then cleared his throat. He shifted from foot to foot and set his stance. “You,” he stated, and his eyes burned with bolstered confidence as he pointed at Crowley, “Archangel Michael. I come with a challenge! I will be your adversary. I will come after you time and time again. I will stalk you through the night—”

Crowley waved his hand and shook his head.

Eric’s confidence melted and he slowly lowered his hand. “No good?”

“Archangel Michael?” Crowley asked and snorted out a laugh. “Eric, listen, I know you’re a multiplicity, but…” He yawned.

Eric stiffened as Crowley yawned, hands balled into fists at his sides. “I need an adversary, Mr. Crowley!”

“Do you?” Crowley drawled and sank deeper into his stance against the wall.

Eric bristled and glared at Crowley. He was unwilling to admit how much he wanted to be just like Crowley, happy with an adversary and so confident in his every move. Little did he know that Crowley operated on a strict diet of insecurity and similar desire to be acknowledged. “Yeah, I do!” Eric shot back.

Crowley looked thoughtfully at Eric. “Alright. What else you got?”

Eric softened as Crowley indulged him and smiled. He stiffened his jaw and pointed at Crowley again. “Alright, Gabriel,” he said boldly. “You can’t talk to Mr. Fell that way. I’m Mr. Crowley’s apprentice and—”

Crowley shook his head. “No, no. Don’t go into that,” he begged.

“Why not?” Eric lowered his hand a fraction.

“This,” Crowley faltered. Surely Eric had to know that he and Aziraphale had been “in cahoots” during Armageddon. He hissed irritably. “This is about you and your adversary, right? Don’t drag me into this.”

Eric blinked, then nodded. “R-right. You’re right.”

Despite Crowley discouraging Eric against challenging an archangel at every turn, the little demon was indomitable. After another few false starts, Crowley slunk off for a rare spot of coffee. He was going to need some coffee if this was the order of the day.

Crowley, short-sighted as ever, got tired of Eric stumbling over the same few lines that were going nowhere. He summoned some paper and a pen and sat the disposable demon down at his desk. Eric was too focused to even notice he was seated in that overly ornate throne of Crowley’s as he scribbled down his drafted statements in Infernal. It had been a while since Crowley had used Infernal, aside from his name. He squinted at the writing a bit, then gave up on it. Eric dictated aloud as he wrote, anyway.

Against his better judgement--not that he’d ever had particularly good judgement to begin with--Crowley spent the next hour workshopping statements of intent with Eric. By the end, even he was performing examples aloud in the study.

Rivalries didn’t even happen this way--not in the modern era. Crowley was swept up in near-sighted focus on the task at hand, hardly cognizant of the consequences of stoking this fire.

Crowley sipped at the last of his cold coffee and put down his mug.

“Thanks for your help, Mr. Crowley.” Eric was sure by now that Crowley had some confidence in him. “Well, that’s me for today.” The demon straightened the sheets of paper he had scribbled on, eyes darting over the edited and rehashed few lines.

Crowley nodded vaguely. “Right, then.” He pushed himself to his feet from where he had been leaning against the desk and yawned as he sauntered back toward his bedroom to get dressed. He was halfway shimmed into his trousers when he heard the front door shut.

“ _ Shit. _ ” Crowley hadn’t realized Eric meant  _ that’s me,  _ as in,  _ off I go!  _ He cursed and snapped to throw on the rest of his clothes. In his rush, he failed to notice his shirt was inside out--hardly the most important thing right now.

He dashed out the door. “Shit shit shit shit,” he cursed as he hurried to the Bentley parked out front. Eric’s infernal presence was difficult to pinpoint in a place like Mayfair, where there was plenty of low-level sin lurking in shadows and emblazoned on bright shiny storefronts alike. There was little question where the demon was headed.

The Bentley roared through the streets with even greater disregard for traffic laws or speed limits than normal. The car had a reputation around these parts, but just as quickly as the regular victims were struck with fear of that speed demon, they forgot it and went about their day. There was no way someone would regularly do ninety through the streets. It just couldn’t be.

Crowley screamed onto the curb as he spotted the carefree little demon.

Eric jumped back and stumbled into the flow of foot traffic. “Er, sorry--I mean, watch it!” he muttered to the people bumping and brushing past him. Eric floundered to steady himself.

“Get in the car,” Crowley growled.

Eric jumped to comply. He never got to ride in the Bentley! He slid into the car with a grin. “You don’t have to give me a ride, Mr. Crowley.”

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” Crowley snapped.

Eric shrank against the door. Had his hair been exposed, it would have wilted from the tone of his mentor’s voice. “I was gonna go accost my adversary,” he said defensively.

“Oh, and who’s that, then?”

“Thought I’d start with Archangel Uriel…”

Crowley smacked Eric upside the head. The disposable demon took the punishment without a word. Guilt immediately assaulted Crowley. He was just as bad as the other demons if he was going to smack Eric around. The anger fueled by worry drained out of him with a sigh.

“Sorry,” Crowley said thickly. “But I’ve  _ told  _ you--no archangels, for Satan’s sake.”

Eric sat huddled by the door, as far away from Crowley as physically possible on the seat. Even after Crowley had helped him this morning with his statements… Eric realized Crowley had just been humoring him. He was rarely humored; not unless the punchline was him being discorporated for his own stupidity. The realization of how gullible he had been to Crowley’s indulgence crashed down on him like a two ton weight, like a cartoon anvil crushing his spirit.

“Eric, do you  _ want  _ to go back to Hell?” Crowley asked him.

“No!” Eric said quickly. “Don’t send me back, please,” he begged. It wasn’t because he was afraid of being discovered bending the outline of orders for his mission. He was afraid if he ended up back in Hell, Crowley wouldn’t let him come back and study under him.

“I’m not gonna send you back,” Crowley told him wearily. “But if you go  _ looking  _ for your destruction, that’s where you’re gonna end up.”

“I’m not lookin’ for destruction!” Eric argued.

“That’s all you’re going to find if you pick fights with archangels!”

Eric let out a frustrated breath, hands fisted in his lap. He looked resolutely out the window. Crowley still didn’t believe in him. Wasn’t he evil enough? Wasn’t that what Crowley was always lecturing him about? Being  _ too  _ evil? Fighting angels was an outlet for that evil! He’d be  _ good  _ at that, unlike all the subtle temptations and wiles he failed to perform to Crowley’s exacting specifications.

“I have to do this,” Eric said with quiet determination.

Crowley was torn. He wanted to yell at Eric and tell him he was being stupid. But that was all Eric ever got from the other demons. Crowley was supposed to be guiding him, encouraging him to be just a little bit of a good person. But the only thing Eric would find from picking fights was archangels was trouble and strife. Not only would it be a harsh wake-up call as to his realistic ability, but it would stir up unnecessary problems on both sides.

“Not yet,” Crowley sighed finally. “Just… you can’t rush into these things.”

Eric frowned at his knees.

“Let’s go for a walk, hey?” Crowley offered. “We’ll…” He broke into a smile. “We’ll go by that statue in the park and make pidgeons shit on the humans.”

Eric’s frown turned to a pout as he fought not to give into Crowley’s temptation.

“Come on,” Crowley insisted. “You love doing that.”

The young-looking demon huffed again. “... Fine. But I’m not giving up.”

Crowley shook his head. “I know. Come on.” He turned the key, not bothering with adjusting his haphazard parking job. The red-headed demon poured himself out of the Bentley onto his feet, and Eric followed suit.

“Hey, Mr. Crowley?” Eric asked as they fell in step together on the sidewalk. Eyes of disgruntled onlookers followed the two darkly dressed men who had just left a vintage car parked cock-eyed on the curb.

“Hm?”

“Will you take me for a ride sometime?” Eric asked, peering up at Crowley with those wide, reluctant eyes.

“If it’ll keep you out of trouble,” Crowley sighed, “sure, kid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art is by the wonderful [Shae_C](http://twitter.com/InkyTortoise)!


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale has had enough of Eric's nonsense, trying to pick fights with Archangels. He summons forth an adversary a little more Eric's size.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally!! We meet the adversary! Thank you for your patience during the brief hiatus in posting. It's well worth the wait!! [Shae](https://twitter.com/InkyTortoise) has outdone herself with an bonus image for this chapter!

"The boy is a menace." Aziraphale sank into his favorite sitting chair. "Can't you talk to him?"

"Already have. Several times.” Crowley's attention was on his phone. “He's determined to find his adversary." 

"Yes, well, I just narrowly managed to nick him loitering around Head Office, looking for Archangels to pick fights with."

Crowley looked up at Aziraphale over his glasses. "That's not good."

"No." Aziraphale gave Crowley an exasperated look. "Not good is a bit of an understatement. Now see here, Crowley, he sees you as a mentor and you have got to get through to him about this."

"Let him make his own mistakes." Crowley waved a hand. "Not like he's short on corporations."

"Hey. So, I've got this great new plan. So you know Sandalphon-" Eric came wheeling into the backroom.

"Stop!" Aziraphale sprang to his feet. "Not another word. I won't hear one more word of it. You're going to get yourself discorporated - or us. And I will not be pleased with having to do one more scrap of paperwork."

Eric put his hands up warily, crouched in defense against Crowley's adversary.

Crowley looked from his bristled angel to the defensive 'trainee.' "Come on. Kid's got to have an adversary." He’d given up fighting Eric on this point.

Aziraphale shot him a look that clearly said,  _ Now is the time you choose to be indulgent? _

"Fine. But no... archangels, for Heaven's sake." Aziraphale straightened his coat. "You'll need to... work up to that." He pursed his lips in a smile to Eric.

The disposable demon brightened and stood up straight. Now he was getting somewhere! It hadn’t occurred to him to ask Aziraphale to help him find an adversary. He’d been focused on solving the issue of the archangels bothering him, but he could cut his teeth on some lowly angels. "Right. Some proper training. Are you gonna be my trainee adversary, Mr. Fell?"

Aziraphale couldn't help but be softened by Eric's insistence on being so polite. "No, dear boy." The gangly demon looked so hopeful, Aziraphale couldn't find it in him to crush his hopes and dreams. But where was he going to come up with an adversary that wouldn't discorporate Eric on the spot? He couldn't ask Heaven for any favors, much less something of such... dubious allegiance. He was already on their List, as it were.

“Although…” Aziraphale settled in that firm stance he had when a particular idea had gripped him. 

Crowley sat forward in his seat and gave Aziraphale a warning look over his glasses. “Angel…” he said in a low voice. They weren’t meant to  _ actually  _ find Eric an adversary, just keep him out of trouble.

“There  _ is  _ a collective in Heaven.” Aziraphale’s eyes widened and a smile bloomed on his face. “Oh, just the thing!”

Crowley tried to give a subtle shake of his head. He pointed his eyes like spotlights and tried to blink in morse code,  _ No, no, no. _

“Why didn’t I think of it before?” Aziraphale clasped his hands and smiled at Crowley, so pleased that he had solved their problem.

Crowley cleared his throat, then tried to make a subtle “cut it out” motion that was lost entirely on Aziraphale.

“Let’s see…” Aziraphale shifted from foot to foot, then paced up and down the bookshop. “Aha. Yes. Let’s try…” The angel walked over to the circular rug in the backmost room with purpose.

Crowley craned his head. “Let’s not get hasty…!” he called, but knew it would fall on deaf ears.

Eric looked over at Crowley curiously, then slowly advanced after Aziraphale. He’d never been invited  _ this  _ deep in the bookshop with the angel adversary, so he was wary of traps the angel might have set.

“Yes, come on over, dear boy,” Aziraphale said brightly. “I’ve just got to see if I can convince one to corporate.” He put his hands together in prayer. It felt a bit silly, as he was no longer strictly affiliated with Heaven, per se. He wasn’t activating the celestial circle, merely using it as a focus to search the ethereal network.

It wasn’t that he  _ wanted  _ to give Eric a sacrificial “adversary.” He just wanted to keep the pesky little demon busy so he wasn’t always underfoot and pestering Crowley. The angel had seen that Eric was, at least in the singular, mostly harmless. Sure, he got up to the usual wily demonic tricks, but he was hardly more evil than Crowley. Crowley’s mentorship might be doing him a bit of good, all in all.

But he simply couldn’t abide by Eric becoming an inadvertent third wheel. Aziraphale had waited much too long and risked too much to tolerate that now.

Eric watched in horrified awe as the angel began to glow. Even the dimmest of celestial light made him shrink back a step. “Uh, Mr. Crowley?”

Since when had he gotten used to ‘Mr. Crowley’? He’d given up correcting Eric. The only people that called him ‘Mr. Crowley’ were, well,  _ people,  _ humans, who weren’t satisfied with a name in the singular unless you were a famous musician or artist. Crowley had entertained the idea, but it required more effort than he was willing to put in. Not to mention his preference to lay low--both from his infernal bosses and society at large.

“What.. what do I do??” Eric hissed.

Crowley shot Aziraphale a look. The heavenly look on the angel’s face was cute, but Crowley honestly had no idea what he was doing. It was making him itchy. “Prepare yourself for battle, I s’ppose,” Crowley tossed out. “I’ve seen him do this before,” he lied. “‘Bout to call down the battalion.” Sure, that sounded ominous enough.

Eric turned a panicked look on Aziraphale, then steeled himself. Right. Now was the time. He’d been preparing himself for this! If Crowley could manage this angel powerful enough to call down a battalion, he could surely fight the soldiers. He was a soldier! Wasn’t he? Was he? He’d just wanted to learn some cool tricks from Crowley. Maybe this was a bad idea. Couldn’t he just meet his own angel adversary? It didn’t have to be a whole  _ army. _ But he would make Crowley proud! Er--Beelzebub proud!

A little ball of light blipped into existence. It wobbled and bobbed around Aziraphale, no bigger than an apple. The former angel of the Eastern Gate opened his eyes and his lips spread in a smile.

“There…” he preened. His hands softened from prayer and reached out to welcome the light. “Now, don’t be shy,” Aziraphale said softly to the ball of light.

Eric had been trying out battle stances, but he stilled as the ethereal orb drifted over Aziraphale’s palms. It didn’t look like a whole battalion, but he’d never seen anything of the sort before.

“It’s alright, dear. You can corporate yourself,” Aziraphale told the light.

The ball arced upward, then out into the space between Aziraphale and Eric. It began to grow in stages, swelling, then shrinking, over and over until it took up almost all the space between angel and demon. Crowley was no longer distracted by his phone, eyes drawn to the strange miracle taking place.

A figure appeared, outlined in gold against the ethereal glow. It was tall and broad-shouldered, the ideal of a man shape. The light began to shimmer and break apart, showering down and away until only the figure remained.

The first thing Eric noticed was how tall the being was. Their back was turned to him, so all Eric saw was their lean but strong build, broad shoulders dressed in a brilliant white uniform, impeccably tailored to their waist. A tartan kilt went to their knees and their legs were coated in more brilliant white down to impossibly clean white boots. It wasn’t just white, it was beyond white--pure as driven snow.

“P-Principality, sir,” the stranger spoke in a voice so quiet, Eric almost didn’t hear it. The angel crossed an arm over his chest, fist at his heart, and bowed to Aziraphale with respect. “What is it I can do for you, that you request I take corporeal form?”

Aziraphale felt a pang of regret as he looked into soft amber eyes--too soft. Though he wore the uniform of an angelic foot-soldier, he did not have the look of a warrior. After all, he was just a guardian angel. He opened his mouth, but before he could get anything out, Eric was shouting.

“You! You will be a worthy opponent!” Eric grinned. This was just a warm-up! Aziraphale thought he could only handle one angel? He’d show Aziraphale! “But will you be worthy of being my adversary?” Eric asked in a low voice. His hands started to flicker with Hellfire.

The guardian angel turned and caught sight of the demon. With a cowardly yelp, the angel summoned his staff instinctively. “Demon!” he cried and swung blindly at the terrifying sight of a grinning demon with flaming hands.

The staff passed through Eric like a hot knife through butter. His face scrunched up in angry confusion, and he had just enough motion left to look down at his corporation ripped asunder. “Ffu—” was all he managed before he crumpled into a pile of ash.

Aziraphale’s hand flew to his mouth. “Oh my…” he whispered.

Crowley stayed very carefully still for a moment. Well. That went about as well as expected.

“Oh!” the guardian angel gasped and clutched his staff to his chest. “Oh. Oh, I didn’t—” He shifted, nervous and uncertain, then turned to look at Aziraphale. “I d-didn’t mean to  _ destroy  _ him. Is that bad?”

Aziraphale gave the angel a bemused look, unsure how to answer that.

“Demons are bad,” the angel said, more to himself than anything. “So I did good?” He looked to Aziraphale with an imploring look. “But… I’m not a soldier. There’ll be paperwork. Oh, I’m no good at paperwork. What… what forms do I fill out? Do I need to know what sort of demon he was?”

Aziraphale closed the space to place a hand on the fretful angel’s shoulder.

“I didn’t mean to destroy him! I’ve never destroyed anything--not ever. Oh, Principality, sir, am I in trouble?”

“There, there,” Aziraphale soothed him. “I think you’ll find that demon particularly resilient.”

“W-what do you mean?”

“Don’t you worry about a thing, dear boy.”

By the time Eric made it back to the bookshop--all the way from the literal depths of Hell, where his corporations spent most of their time--Aziraphale had explained to the guardian angel the situation, and requested his help “taking care” of the pesky little demon. It was to be a training exercise for the angel just as much as the demon.

“Oh, you’ve returned!” the guardian angel said as he jumped to his feet from fretting on a couch in the back room. Eric stormed through the shop, a trail of ash and Hellsmoke fuming behind him. “I didn’t mean to destroy you. I’m so sorry,” the angel apologized. “It was really rude of me. I’m really very sorry.”

Eric was knocked clean off his warpath by the angel’s profuse apologies. “Uh…”

“Are you alright?” Guardian angels were meant to be protectors, not warriors. Even if he  _ was  _ a demon…

The angel before him suddenly didn’t seem so tall. He was, objectively, taller than Eric himself, but he had this nervous energy that made him seem smaller. His skin was dark copper, and his face was marked with more blinding white: a line that traced his jaw, two dots just at his brows that made him seem perpetually concerned, and a block of his lower lip. Bright eyes of amber glittered with worry through blunt lashes.

“I’m fine,” Eric said. “Yeah, I’m fine. See?” He patted himself down where the angel had sliced him in two. “You don’t have t’be sorry.” He grinned with a confused quirk of his eyebrows.

“Oh, thank goodness. I’ve never destroyed anything. I was so worried.”

Eric opened his mouth, but found himself speechless. Compared to the way angels usually treated demons--even the way those bully archangels had treated Aziraphale, one of their own--Eric was floored by the concern flooding out of the angel. He shook his head. This was to be his adversary!

“You should be worried,” he countered sharply and reclaimed his previous readiness to do battle with the angel. “What is mine adversary’s name?” Eric asked grandly.

The angel faltered. “Adversary?” he asked. “I, uh…” He looked to Aziraphale for help. “I don’t… have a name. Guardian angels don’t—”

Eric deflated, his hands falling slack to his sides.

“We’re— I’m— usually… a collective, not… individual, so…” Oh, the demon looked so disappointed in him! He didn’t want to disappoint anyone…

“Tim.” All eyes turned on Crowley, who had gone back to affecting disinterest by absorbing his phone. He didn’t look up. “That’s Eric,” he said with a gesture at the disposable demon. “Why not Tim.”

“ _ Tim _ ?? Tim is not a celestial name!” Aziraphale balked.

“Tim’s a fine name!” Crowley argued and pushed himself onto his feet with a grin. So far, Aziraphale’s summoned angel had surpassed Crowley’s expectations--in that he seemed just as bad at being a strong, dangerous angel as Eric was being a scary, powerful demon.

“It’s not very dignified,” Aziraphale muttered.

The timid angel looked back at Aziraphale and shook his head. “I’m only a guardian angel. Anything is fine.” He turned to Crowley and swallowed as the redheaded demon sauntered toward him. “Oh dear. Another demon.”

“Don’t you worry about that wily serpent, dear boy,” Aziraphale said with a bit more bravado than necessary. “I’ll keep him in check.”

Crowley kept advancing on Tim, his grin growing. “What d’you think of the name ‘Tim,’ angel kid?” he asked.

The angel shrank back from Crowley, terror plain in his face. “I-it’s a-a good name, sir, Mr. Demon, sir.”

“Crowley.” The demon extended a hand with a jerk of his arm.

Tim flinched.

“Hey, you’re scarin’ him, Mr. Crowley,” Eric growled and batted Crowley’s hand out of the air. “That’s my job,” he said, puffing up.

Crowley’s eyebrows raised over his glasses. He chuckled and gave Eric a pat on the shoulder. “So it is.”

Aziraphale cut in to reassure the newly-christened ‘Tim.’ “Now, before anyone performs any wiles or commences with the thwarting, why don’t you two get to know each other, hm?” He gestured toward one of the couches, his hand gentle on Tim’s back.

“Is this… standard, Principality, sir?” Tim asked quietly.

“You can just call me Aziraphale, dear boy,” the blond angel said sweetly as he took him by the arm and led him to the couch. “I wouldn’t say exactly  _ standard,  _ but… well, things are bound to change a bit after everything that has happened, don’t you think?”

“You mean… the Reckoning?” Tim asked in a low voice, as if he shouldn’t say.

“Just so,” Aziraphale agreed. “If you two are going to be… training together, best know a thing or two about the other.” The angel had all the faith in the world that this guardian angel would be just the influence Eric needed. Guardian angels were gentle protectors by nature, nothing like the angel soldiers that had been ready to go to war. Tim would at least keep Eric busy, and he was just as resilient as the disposable demon, should things actually come to blows. Given the gentleness he had displayed thus far, Aziraphale could hardly imagine things coming to blows.

Although… there was Eric to consider. He had been slow on the uptake of Crowley’s less-than-evil style. Aziraphale turned a wary gaze on the demon.

“You can’t just start chucking Hellfire,” Crowley counseled Eric quietly. “If you’re serious about havin’ an adversary, you gotta really get inside his head, y’know?” He couldn’t stop the grin on his face, even while he lectured Eric on proper adversarial etiquette. “Besides, he cut you clean in two without even thinkin’ about it. Gotta watch yourself.” Crowley tapped his nose, then took Eric by the shoulder and set him loose toward the angel nervously picking at the hem of his kilt.

Eric stumbled forward as Crowley gave him a push, then shot a look over his shoulder. He walked over to join Tim and flopped down on the couch. “So… yer a guardian angel, huh?”

Tim glanced at Eric, then at Aziraphale. The principality offered him a warm, encouraging smile that bolstered against his trepidation. “That’s right,” he said.

“What d’you guard? You, like, stand outside the pearly gates and fend off people who ain’t supposed to be in Heaven?”

“No,” Tim replied, incredulous. “No, nothing like that. We watch over humankind. Listen to their prayers, route the appropriate attending angels for blessings. Sometimes we protect our human wards when they’re in danger.” For the first time, a smile blossomed on lips annointed with white.

Eric stared at Tim. His smile was even worse than Aziraphale’s, just positively oozing with softness. “Gross,” slipped from his lips before he could stop it.

Tim’s smile swiftly downturned. “You’re just a demon, then,” he said quietly.

“Not  _ just  _ a demon,” Eric said proudly. “I’m a  _ disposable  _ demon.”

Tim opened his mouth to ask what that meant, but Eric plowed on.

“They send me on all the special, dangerous missions. Reason being, I’m a multiplicity.”

“Oh!” Tim gasped. “You’re… you’re just one individual in—?”

“That’s right. There’s hundreds of me.”

“So you can use your network to—?”

“Nah, so there’s always backup. I mean, it’s kinda useful when I deploy with more than one of me. But, y’know, dangerous missions and stuff, I get discorporated all the time. Sometimes the other demons off me just for fun, ‘cause they can,” he laughed.

“That’s terrible,” Tim said, affronted. 

Eric paused and looked at Tim with a vacant smile. “S’ppose so.”

Tim was filled with pity for this poor demon. It took a moment to realize himself and shake out of feeling pity for a  _ demon,  _ of all things. Demons were worthy of some pity, for being forsaken and cast out from the light of God, but he supposed it wasn’t really his place to deign pity on a being that was  _ built  _ to suffer. Eric seemed to accept ‘terrible’ as a normal state of being.

“I’m a… multiplicity, too,” Tim offered. “Well, we call it a collective.” He felt a strange pang in his chest when he said ‘we.’ In his current form, the feeling of ‘we’ was distant. Normally, he felt the rest nestled against his own ethereal light. With this corporeal form, he was gifted with a kind of sight and touch and taste that overwhelmed the subtle sensations he felt in his form of boundless light. That was what made him anxious, the feeling of being  _ apart  _ and overstimulated.

Eric narrowed his eyes at Tim. “How many?”

Tim blinked, surprised by the question. “I… I don’t know, exactly. I never tried to count.”

“I had to count all mine. Paperwork, y’know. Got my own special form,” Eric bragged.

“Oh, I dread the paperwork,” Tim admitted in a low voice.

“Me too!” Eric said eagerly, then caught himself. He shouldn’t have been looking for things in common with his adversary! They were supposed to be rivals, butting heads at every turn. He cleared his throat. “I mean, paperwork’s not supposed to be  _ fun. _ ”

Aziraphale siddled over to Crowley with a secretive smile. “Well. That’s sorted, then,” he said, looking pleased with himself.

Crowley shot Aziraphale a dubious look.

“What? I think he’s a perfect match for Eric,” Aziraphale said defensively.

Crowley cracked a grin and chuckled. “Playing matchmaker already?”

Aziraphale’s face slackened in surprise and he glanced at the angel and demon chatting rather good-naturedly on the couch. “You don’t think… Well, I…”

Crowley clapped Aziraphale on the shoulder. “Brings ya back, doesn’t it, angel?”

Aziraphale’s cheeks pinkened as he passed a to-the-world smile on Crowley. “Perhaps lightning can strike twice.”


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After another lackluster performance under Crowley's tutelage, Eric drags his adversary out into the field to see what he's made of.

“Why do you read like that?” 

Aziraphale was growing accustomed to Tim’s endless stream of questions. The boy really was so ignorant to the ways of things on Earth. To call him a boy was perhaps a misnomer, as he was taller than Aziraphale himself, and certainly had the form of a young man in his twenties--in top form, no less--but his child-like curiosity had Aziraphale’s mind firmly fixed in the thought of him as more boy than man.

“Like what, dear boy?” Aziraphale asked as he peered up over his glasses at the guardian angel.

“With your eyes. You stare at each page for quite some time.” Tim looked over at the stack of books on the side table beside Aziraphale’s comfortable reading chair. He had learned quickly in his few days on Earth that Aziraphale was very protective of his material possessions, in particular the books, despite how very many there were in his domicile. He gently picked up a book as his amber eyes sought permission from the possessive bookkeeper.

Aziraphale gave him permission in a smile, appreciative of Tim’s manners.

“You could consume the information much more efficiently.” Tim opened the book and fanned through the pages. Just from that, he gleaned that the story inside was a tale of two young men from disparate classes with similar likenesses that switched places and experienced new facets of life. The common sense of a common life proved insightful in the highest courts, and the horrors of life in the lower class inspired sympathy in a pampered young regent. The strange and unlikely story made little impact on Tim. He stored the information away, uncertain of its value.

Aziraphale watched Tim curiously. “And what did you pick up from that reading?”

Tim recited the summary of the book much as it would have been written on the back cover. Of course, this was a leather-bound first edition and had no such summary to recite.

“And what of the  _ meaning  _ of the story?” Aziraphale asked.

“Meaning? I’ve just told you. It’s about…”

“Not what it’s about, but what it means. How it can apply to yourself.”

Tim was bewildered. “It’s just a story. A narrative. I don’t understand.”

“One of the reasons I read the… human way is because it gives me more time to digest the meaning behind the tale.”

The guardian angel considered this. “There’s more to it?” he wondered.

“Yes, dear boy. All these stories the humans come up with, they’re full of allegories and metaphors that can apply beyond the mere story itself.”

Tim looked at the book in his hands. He opened it once more, this time carefully turning to the first page. He squinted at the text. “It’s… much harder to read the words themselves…”

Aziraphale closed his own book and sat up in his chair. “Can you read English?”

Tim frowned. “I guess not.” He looked at Aziraphale. “Should I learn?”

Aziraphale’s face blossomed in a smile. “If you like. There’s a certain pleasure to reading.”

“Could you teach me?” Tim asked.

“Of course. Perhaps we’ll start with something a bit simpler, though.” Aziraphale rose from his chair, giddy with the pleasure of sharing one of his very favorite pastimes.

“I still managed to get the money, didn’t I?” Eric argued as he chimed through the bookshop door.

“Yes, but you  _ stole  _ it. I told you to  _ tempt  _ them,” Crowley scolded.

“You didn’t say that! You said,  _ convince  _ them to give you a fiver. I  _ convinced  _ them by relieving them of their wallet!” Eric insisted.

“Bet you Tim could’ve been more convincing than you,” Crowley shot back.

Eric’s grumpy expression broke into shocked offense. He recovered just as quickly, though his scowl was colored with embarrassment. “No way. He’s an angel.”

“Hi,” Crowley interrupted their discourse to greet the two angels sitting together on a settee. “What’s new?”

Crowley barely got the words out before Eric was barrelling forward. “You,” he said to Tim, “Come on. We’re going to prove Mr. Crowley wrong.”

Crowley was taken aback. “What? Eric, I think Tim and Aziraphale were--”

“No, I’m going to prove you wrong,” Eric grumbled. “C’mon, Tim.”

Tim blinked back and forth at the two demons. “I--” he faltered and looked at Aziraphale. The former principality looked concerned.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Aziraphale offered gently.

“Tim!” Eric demanded. “This is adversary business!”

Crowley opened his mouth to argue, but Eric was already storming toward Tim and had the hapless angel by the wrist.

“O-okay,” Tim agreed tentatively as he was dragged to his feet. He shot a concerned look at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale rose to convene with Crowley as Eric marched Tim out of the bookshop. “Shouldn’t you stop him?” the angel asked quietly.

Crowley shrugged. “I’m fucking tired. He’s been on a tear ever since you brought Tim into this. Won’t give me a minute’s rest.”

Aziraphale frowned at Crowley.

“What? Like Tim hasn’t been running  _ you  _ ragged.”

A tiny smile crept onto Aziraphale’s lips. “Actually, I find him quite charming.”

“He literally asks questions about  _ everything. _ I don’t know how you stand it.”

“He asked me today to teach him how to read.”

Crowley melted at the pure pleasure on Aziraphale’s face. He couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at his lips. “That’s pretty adorable.”

“Where are we going?” Tim asked as Eric marched him out into SoHo. He’d been briefly outside of the bookshop on a couple of days, but the sheer number of people, the sounds and the smells, assaulted his solitary constitution.

“Mr. Crowley said  _ you’d  _ be better at tempting people out of their hard-earned cash that I am,” Eric growled. “I’m gonna prove him wrong.”

“T-tempting people?” Tim asked fearfully. “I don’t know how to tempt people! I-I--” Tim tugged back on Eric’s grip on his wrist and wrenched himself free. “I  _ don’t  _ tempt people. I’m an angel!”

Eric whipped around to face Tim. “Then thwart me from tempting people. I don’t care.” Eric was incensed that Crowley criticized his every attempt at being a demon. Couldn’t Crowley tell him he did good--or, bad, rather--for once? Wasn’t his bad good enough? “Some adversary you are,” Eric snapped.

Tim frowned. He  _ was  _ supposed to be combatting the forces of evil in this so-called disposable demon. It wasn’t exactly in his job description, but Aziraphale had encouraged him to be a good influence on Eric. “Fine,” Tim shot back. “I’m sure there’s a nice way to ask people for money. You don’t have to be a demon to do it.”

Eric scowled. “Fine! Do it, then!”

Tim felt fired up as Eric challenged him. “Fine! I will!” He looked around the street and it sent his head swimming. It was overwhelming to see so many humans like this, walking around, living their lives. When he was in the collective, it was so much easier to parse.

Eric smirked as he watched Tim falter and waver in place. Stupid angel couldn’t even get his bearings. Some multiplicity he was if he couldn’t handle a little London crowd.

Tim focused on his breath--another strange thing about being corporeal, breathing, but he had found that it was something he could use to ground himself when he was feeling uneasy. Breathe in, focus, breath out, relax. His stance softened, shoulders dropping from their pinched position If he was very still, he could hear the humans around him--not their outer voices, but their inner ones. Fears, worries, prayers, desires came whispered past him.

Eric watched, bewildered, as Tim seemed to coalesce into something less anxious and uncertain. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, the guardian angel zeroed in on someone standing by the bus stop. He drifted toward them as if in a dream. Eric couldn’t hear what Tim asked the stranger, but he saw the person look up not with the usual derision Eric earned, but with a smile that mirrored, but paled in comparison, Tim’s own.

They were reaching for their wallet! They were handing him money! Were they offering him more?? Eric pushed people aside to get closer, just in time to hear Tim’s angelic voice.

“You really are a very good person. Thank you. God bless you,” Tim said so earnestly, even the agnostic that had just given him a fiver took it to heart. Tim turned to find Eric, and nearly tripped over him, standing so close behind.

“What the hell did you say to them??” Eric demanded. “How did you…?!” he blustered, then huffed. “Whatever. Beginner’s luck.” The demon looked Tim up and down.

The angel offered the money to Eric. “Here. Your ‘fiver.’”

Eric felt his face grow suddenly hot. “Don’t give me your dirty holier-than-thou money!” he shouted and shoved the fiver back against Tim’s chest.

Tim looked about nervously. He could feel people reacting to Eric’s boisterous shouting. “But  _ you  _ wanted it,” Tim mumbled, confused.

“I can get it myself. Just you watch,” Eric sneered and stormed away, leaving an uncertain guardian angel in his wake.

Tim stared at the money in his hands, feeling very self-conscious. Had he just asked a human for money that he did not actually need? Just to prove a point to a demon? Was that… bad?

The angel tottered after Eric, unsure how close he was meant to follow. He should really stop Eric, shouldn’t he? If the demon was going to do something bad, Tim felt he was  _ obligated  _ to stop him.

Tim came weaving through humans just in time to see Eric slap a hand on a man’s shoulder. “Hey, you got a fiver?” Eric’s voice was pitched low, his posture devil-may-care with just a hint of threat. Considering he was nearly a head shorter than the man he was accosting, the threat fell a little short, to say the least.

“What?” the man asked, and Tim could feel a not-so-nice reaction of self-defense coiling up inside the human.

Tim nearly tripped over himself coming up beside Eric. “Wh-what he meant is--did you drop a fiver?” Tim said in a rush and interrupted the tension between demon and human with the five pound note he had just been given. The angel’s nervous smile gradually softened into a hopeful one.

The human turned a confused look to Tim, but the tension melted from him. The pleasant smile on Tim’s face transformed the human’s expression to one to mirror it.

Eric shot Tim a wide-eyed look of disgust.

The human patted his pockets, then chuckled. “You know, I never carry cash around with me. Not mine. Thanks for asking, though. Mighty nice of you.”

Tim took Eric by the arm and flashed one more smile at the stranger before leading Eric away. He grabbed Eric’s wrist and put the five pound note firmly in his palm. “That human was about to put hands on you!”

Eric grumbled and crumpled the note in his fist. “I could’a taken him.”

Tim tossed Eric’s wrist aside. “Perhaps I should have let him.” He frowned at Eric as they started down the street. “I do not think that is how you perform a  _ temptation. _ ”

“What d’you know? You’re just a stupid angel.”

Tim gasped, hurt. However, he could see there wasn’t malice in Eric’s expression, but disappointment. Something was making Eric lash out at him, but Tim couldn’t quite understand what. He picked at the pressed collar of his shirt, tracing over the stitches. “It looked more like, erm… intimidation,” Tim offered.

Eric blinked and looked over at Tim. “... Yeah. S’ppose it was.”

“Isn’t that… higher level?” Tim asked. His expression exposed how utterly out of his depth he was.

Eric shrugged, but his brow seemed lighter as he stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Thought I’d try it out,” he said, as if that had been the plan all along.

“Thwarted you this time,” Tim said timidly.

Eric and Tim met eyes without turning to face each other, the demon’s dark and critical, the angel’s shining and gentle. After a beat, Eric’s lips twitched into a grin. “This time,” he said. “C’mon.”

Tim felt the knot of tension in his chest loosen as he saw Eric smile. It was in his nature, written into his very existence, to protect people, to bring them happiness. Due to some oversight in his programming, it did not matter that the smile he sought belonged to a demon. He would avert evil at all costs, that much rang true, but he couldn’t ignore the pleasant feeling that settled in his heart to see Eric smile. 

He was granted only a moment’s reprieve before Eric was walking off with purpose once more. “Wh-where are you going now?” Tim asked and hurried to catch up.

The demon whipped into a bus stop shelter and glanced around conspiratorially. Tim peeked around the side panel. “What are you doing?” the angel hissed, as if he needed to be quiet on a noisy London street.

Eric shot him a warning look over his shoulder, then turned back to the bus schedule and route in front of him. It was all pretty much nonsense to him, but he’d seen Crowley do this before. Change a few numbers here, swap a few stops there, alter the one of those colored lines on the map. Voila! Minor chaos that would last throughout the day.

The demon smirked at Tim and turned on his heel, crossing his arms with satisfaction. The angel wandered into the shelter and was distracted by the large advertisements plastered on either side.

“The bus schedule,” Eric said pointedly. He didn’t want his hard work to go unnoticed!

Tim followed the gesture of Eric’s thumb and stared at the large display. He nearly went cross-eyed trying to look at it. So many words and numbers--it was all too specific, and lacking any kind of context for his celestial brain. He shook his head and blinked, tried squinting to see better.

Eric laughed. It wasn’t the harsh sound Tim was expecting, but genuine amusement. “You can’t read?” he spluttered.

Tim felt heat rising to his cheeks because of Eric’s tone. Why did it make his face hot to be asked something so simple? “No,” he said mumbled. “Not very well. Mr. Fell is going to teach me…”

Eric took a step toward Tim and pointed at the map, fingertips poking from his black fingerless gloves. “It’s like this, see. I changed these two locations on the map. Adjusted this route on paper. Then I made the times different down here.”

“Oh,” Tim nodded slowly. “I see.”

Eric looked doubtfully at Tim. He smacked his chest with the back of his hand. “Do you?”

Tim smiled at him expectantly.

Eric shook his head. “You’re hopeless.”

“That’s not true. I’m full of hope and--”

Eric burst out laughing. “That’s not what I mean!”  _ Beyond hopeless,  _ he thought.

Tim didn’t know why Eric was laughing, nor why it made his face feel hot. “Wh-why did you alter this?” Tim asked quietly, trying to change the subject from his personal ignorance to his ignorance of the practicalities of the human world.

“See, it’s gonna muck up everyone’s schedules,” Eric said with an eager grin. “Make ‘em late for work, or appointments. Mr. Crowley always says, it’s the  _ little _ inconveniences,” Eric mangled the word; it was new to his vocabulary, “that tip the  _ big  _ scales.”

Tim frowned at Eric, then at the schedule. Well, he couldn’t just change it back--he didn’t know what it was supposed to look like in the first place, nor was he confident in his ability to miracle up human script. It all looked like squiggles and lines to him.

Eric surveyed his work proudly. “Alright, next.” If Tim couldn’t read, there was nothing he could do about this little demonic act, Eric thought proudly. Perhaps he’d take more advantage of this little failing of the angel’s. Least while he could. If Mr. Fell was teaching him to read, it might not last for long. Then again, considering how dumb the angel was, it could be  _ ages  _ before he learned how to read English.

Eric swooped back out of the bus shelter with a spring in his step. Tim slowly lifted a thoughtful finger to his chin. His eyes were drawn to the advertisements once more. He wasn’t alone on the street, but he was alone in the bus shelter. As he put his hands together in prayer to his collective, one fist wrapped in the palm of the other hand, his eyes flicked up and he smiled.

Eric looked back over his shoulder and noticed a warm golden glow peeking out from the bus shelter. He faltered and dashed back over, whipping around the side of the shelter so fast he nearly tripped into Tim.

“What was that?” Eric demanded.

The glow had faded, just lingering a bit around Tim’s short hair and in the amber pools of his eyes. “Just consulting with the collective,” Tim said calmly. He looked utterly at ease--more so than usual.

“That’s cheating,” Eric growled. “And what if someone had seen you glowing like anything??” He grabbed Tim’s wrist, tearing his pose of prayer apart.

Tim stumbled after Eric as the demon dragged him along and looked furtively this way and that, as if expecting someone to suddenly call them out. “Was it that bright?” he asked.

“It’s not--” Eric dragged Tim to walk in step with him and glared at him. “It’s not normal! People don’t glow!”

“I know… It was only for a second…”

“You can’t be gettin’ us caught,” Eric warned him with a finger in his face. “You might not be so worried about Mr. Fell, but I seen him mad and you do  _ not  _ want that.”

Tim took Eric absolutely at his word.

“What were you even doing, anyway?” Eric asked, glancing over his shoulder.

“Just a little thwarting. That’s what we’re doing, isn’t it? You wile, I thwart.” Tim smiled.

At the next bus shelter, Eric saw just what Tim had done. There were brand new posters on every panel where there had been advertisements. The design was attractive, with bold, modern graphics and perfectly spelled instructions:  _ Routes are under maintenance! Please call this number for updated schedules!  _

“Oh,  _ bless  _ you,” Eric muttered with a scowl at the angel.

Tim squinted at him with a confused smile. “Thank… you?”


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eric and Tim continue their ~~date~~ mission, wiling and thwarting each other at every turn, and inadvertently trying to keep each other out of trouble.

“This place is amazing!” Tim said as he followed Eric into the massive structure of shops and restaurants that made up the gallery of Covent Garden. He could feel the happiness just bubbling up around them--children laughing and tugging their parents along to look at performers, couples walking hand in hand as they passed by shop displays, people eager to spend their hard-earned cash on things they didn’t need that made them happy. 

Eric shot Tim a look. “Really? You like this place?” he asked. As he looked around, he could feel the low level of unhappiness lurking about the place, festering in the hearts of performers desperate to make ends meet, simmering in the minds of people exhausted by crowds, not to mention the blatant consumerist indulgence of the whole bloody thing.

Eric liked it here. It was easy to melt into the crowds and wreak mischief, help somebody lose their wallet or bag, pile on the temptation to buy unnecessary material possessions. Crowley had described it as a feast of discontent masked by the veneer of capitalism. Or something like that.

The demon was drawn toward a band that was just setting up, tuning instruments and warming amps. When he turned to see if Tim was still hovering, he found that he had lost the angel. To his surprise, his first instinct was panic. He was pretty sure  _ losing  _ his adversary wasn’t part of the deal. That stupid angel was sure to get himself in trouble, and that would mean  _ him  _ getting in trouble--if not with Mr. Crowley, surely with Mr. Fell.

His eyes darted around the crowds, looking for that dumb tall angel in his bright white shirt, but he was nowhere to be found. Eric frowned and then shook his head. Nah, this wasn’t his problem. How was it his fault if Tim got himself in trouble? He wasn’t Tim’s keeper, he was his adversary! Better off letting the angel get lost so he could actually get some demonic work done.

With one last furtive glance, Eric shrugged and wandered over to band. He looped around the back of their set up, under the eaves of the shops, and made a point to step on the cord to the soundsystem. The speaker blared and shrieked with feedback that made passers-by gasp, and deafened the band. Then, a little music: a mariachi number that would loop the same twelve bars into infinity, every burst of horn threatening to rip the speakers apart. The whole of Covent Garden was flooded with deafening, albeit cheerful, noise.

Eric beamed at the chaos. The crowds shifted and moved like herds of sheep being corralled away from the noise, and even people on the upper level were covering their ears.

Then, suddenly, Tim appeared beside him.

“There you are!” Tim shouted cheerfully over the roar of noise.

Eric jumped and frowned.

Tim said something, but it was lost to the torrent of sound.

Eric shook his head and pointed at his ears innocently.

Tim looked at the speakers and gave a little nod of his head. The speakers leapt down to a manageable level and the whole area breathed a sigh of relief. “Much too loud. Could barely hear myself think,” Tim murmured. “You turned it up so I would find you,” the angel decided with a smile. “Thank you. I lost sight of you for a moment there.”

Eric opened his mouth to protest, looked about at his work undone, and frowned at Tim. “You’re no fun.” Well, at least people were still prodding at their sore ears and complaining about the sudden auditory attack. Eric would still count it as a success. 

“I’m not gonna come looking for you if you get lost,” Eric told Tim. “So you better know your way back to the bookshop, or stick close.”

Tim nodded. “I won’t wander off,” he said.

Eric jerked his chin toward the stairs and headed in that direction. Tim followed close beside, and slipped his hands around Eric’s arm at his elbow so as not to lose him again.

Eric nearly jumped out of his skin and recoiled violently. His instinct was to put up his hands--whether to fend off the angel or attack him was uncertain.

Tim jumped back in equal surprise and looked wide-eyed at Eric. “You said to stick close,” he said gently.

Eric felt stupid for his automatic response. Of course Tim wasn’t going to hurt him. His muscle memory didn’t know that--his corporations had learned an aversion to any kind of touch. He dropped his hands to his sides as he felt his face grow hot as he stared pointedly  _ not  _ at Tim.

Before the angel could open his stupid mouth and ask him why he reacted like that, Eric blurted out, “Yeah. Fine.” He turned on his heel and jabbed his elbow toward Tim.

The angel stared at Eric’s stiff pose, his near-threatening elbow, then realized Eric was  _ offering  _ his arm. Tim smiled and replaced his hands gently.

Well, this didn’t feel very adversarial. But if Eric didn’t keep Tim out of trouble, the angel might go around doing a whole lot of good and canceling out his misdeeds behind his back. Eric didn’t really know anything about having friends to keep close, but he’d heard it was better to keep your enemies closer.

“There are so many different material  _ things  _ everywhere! What do the humans do with all of them?” Tim wondered aloud as he walked arm in arm with Eric.

Eric looked at a display of high-end clothes as they passed. “Vanity,” he said with a gesture. Next was a chocolate shop, the displays piled high with more chocolate than any one person could eat. “Gluttony.” Eric grinned. This was more his speed, angel hanging on his arm be damned. (If he did his job right.)

“What about these?” Tim asked as he slowed to look at the curious display. It  _ looked  _ like clothing, but it wasn’t anything he had seen before. It didn’t cover very much, although it did seem more ornamental than the other clothing he had seen.

Eric laughed. “Lust,” he said proudly. “You know about lust, little guardian angel?” he teased.

“In theory,” Tim said thoughtfully. “It’s a sort of… sin to do with flesh.”

“Oh yeah.” Eric grinned. “Humans wear that kind of stuff so there’s more to take off. And it looks nice. Tempting and the like.”

“It does look nice,” Tim agreed. “Do you wear those sorts of things?”

Eric balked, “No! I’m not--” He glanced up at Tim. The angel was just looking at him, innocent as anything. “‘M not that kind of demon.”

“So demons stick to one sin or another,” Tim supposed.

“No, I mean. Demons are all about sin. Creatures a’ sin, us lot.”

“You’ve never tried it?” Tim asked.

“Not on… humans…” Eric would have never described himself as shy, but there was something really unnerving about talking to an angel about lust as casually as if discussing hobbies they dabbled in.

“Do demons tempt other demons into sin?”

“No! It’s not--” Eric blustered.

Tim peered over at Eric. Why was the demon getting all flustered talking about sin?

Eric set his jaw and shot a scowl up at Tim. He was  _ not  _ about to get embarrassed just because he was talking to an angel! “Y’don’t need somebody else!”

Tim just looked confused.

“You can…  _ indulge  _ in lust on your own.”

“Oh.” Tim still didn’t get it. But he thought about it. “Oh!” he said brightly. “Like with your multiplicity.”

Eric tripped over his own feet as all the blood rushed to his face. “You can’t just say shit like that!”

“Like what?” Tim asked. “Are you okay? You’re all red.”

“Nevermind,” Eric spat and looked away from Tim. How in the seven Hells could Tim be so  _ innocent  _ and yet so blunt? It shouldn’t have embarrassed him, not when Tim didn’t even realize what he was saying. He’d never thought he’d have to explain lust to an angel--and he didn’t plan on it anytime soon. It would probably put a feather in his cap, corrupting an angel with that kind of knowledge, but it was too much. Not right here in the middle of Covent Garden.

“Why don’t we get some air?” Tim suggested, unable to help the concern he felt for the demon. It was in his nature. “It looks like there’s more shops outside.”

Eric gave a short nod of affirmation and wriggled with Tim still on his arm. As soon as they wound they way back through the crowds on the staircase and out into the open air, Eric jerked his arm free of Tim's hands and shoved his own tattered-gloved hands into his pockets.

"There's some sort of show going on," Tim mused and tried to smile at Eric, but the demon seemed distracted.

This was not going at all how he'd expected. He hadn't thought Tim would so readily thwart him at every turn. How could an angel not even built for thwarting demons take to it so naturally? And what kind of demon was he if he couldn't even corrupt an angel with  _ talk  _ of lust? He’d just have to try harder-- _ grow better,  _ like Mr. Crowley was always telling his plants.

He left Tim hovering around the crowd with a glance. The angel smiled at him, gaze lingering to make sure he knew where Eric was headed. The demon looked down as his feet echoed metallic over a manhole set in the cobblestones. With a little smirk, he knocked his heel against one edge, raising the lip just enough to create a hazard. He scanned the cobbled streets, watching all the legs of tourists and shoppers, and spotted another manhole. A little mischief was just what he needed.

Yeah, it was the little things. It’s not like Mr. Crowley had gone all out right from the beginning. Mr. Fell had told him some stories about their back and forth over the years--it had started out with little stuff.

Mr. Crowley had given him an avocado seed. It was big and round, glossy and hard. He’d shown Eric how to prick the shell, create cracks in the armor to encourage it to grow. He’d taught him how to talk to it--how to threaten it, offer dire consequences with the promise of praise. It came pretty easily to Eric, as he’d been threatened all his existence as far back as he could remember. Spewing that vitriol forth felt good.

But it would still take time. No matter how much he yelled at it, Mr. Crowley said it would take time. Mr. Crowley was trying to teach him patience. Maybe he was like that seed--he had to be patient before he would see any growth.

Eric wasn’t used to being so wrapped up in his own thoughts. He didn’t normally have too many of his own thoughts. He was programmed to follow orders, not his own path. Suddenly, he felt a prickling up his legs. He smelled something burning. His fingers felt numb, nothing, and then too much--burning, his nerves alight, not like Hellfire, but something worse. He was discorporating. Why? His throat was closing up and he looked around in panic. Was he being smited? Why was he suddenly crackling and searing from the inside? Had Beelzebub found him, discovered what he was really doing up here?

Then, he saw it. He was practically on the steps of a church, pushed there by his meandering trek around the crowds. His feet were sucked to the ground, he was already too close--

Suddenly, he was ripped away, and cold air hit his lungs. His feet barely touched the ground--he was flying, whizzing past the crowds, but it didn’t hurt the way discorporating did. He wasn’t being sucked down into Hell, reduced to his base elements, shorn of his flesh and muscle.

He stopped suddenly and it was quiet--at least for London. He was still in London, at least, but he could only tell for the hiss of busses and honking of distant horns. It wasn’t crowded like Covent Garden had been, but he still felt like his throat was closing up.

“Eric! What were you doing?” Tim gasped. “Consecrated ground might discorporate you!”

Eric wheezed and nodded weakly. Tim was holding him by the shoulders--perhaps the only reason he was still standing. A few feathers floated between them, pale gold, but Eric must have missed seeing Tim’s actual wings. Stupid angel had  _ flown  _ him away?

“Are you okay?” Tim asked.

Eric tried to take a steadying breath, but it wouldn’t come. He shook his head and reached up, patting Tim on the shoulder.

“What is it? What can I do?” Tim pleaded. He was supposed to guard, to protect. In a manner of speaking, Eric was his ward, and he felt as if he had failed to protect him.

Eric pointed at his throat. Tim just stared at him with fretful amber eyes. The disposable demon choked on a cough. His eyes watered and he emphatically drew a line across his own throat.

“What?” Tim looked aghast. “No! I’m not going to discorporate you.” Tim pressed his lips together, then blurted, “Quick! Do something evil. Maybe that would help.” Oh, what was he saying? But he surely couldn’t heal Eric. If he used any more of his holy power, it probably  _ would  _ discorporate Eric.

Eric looked pained, then annoyed. Why wouldn’t the stupid angel just put him out of his misery? He grabbed Tim by his front and shoved him against the nearby wall. His first instinct was to punch Tim--he’d always wanted to punch an angel--but he barely had enough strength to pin him against the wall. If he couldn’t punch him with his fists, well--there were other ways to harm an angel.

This could go one of two ways--either his contact with the angel would register as appropriately evil and sinful and his corporation would coalesce, or the contact would utterly destroy him. Only one way to find out.

Eric crushed Tim’s lips with his own. Hell Below, angels were soft. Eric had expected resistance, a strangled sound of displeasure, hard lips over gritted teeth. But Tim was  _ soft. _ The hands still on Eric’s shoulders  _ relaxed  _ instead of shoving him away. It felt as if Tim were giving in to the temptation.

Eric felt something building in his chest and he broke away with a gasp. Oh, good, his lungs were working again. The smell of smoldering skin and singed hair was still there, but fading. He stared at Tim.

“Did it work?” Tim asked, that perpetually worried look on his face.

“Standin’ here, ain’t I?” Eric muttered.

Tim was pinned awkwardly against the wall, but if the smile that bloomed on his face was any indication, he didn’t mind. “You’re alright,” he sighed in relief.

Eric cracked a confused grin. “Why d’you care? Would’ve been same difference if you’d just discorporated me. I’d’a come back.”

Tim’s smile faltered. “I… don’t want to discorporate you. Thwarting and all is fine, but…”

Eric did not understand the feeling in his gut. It was a little bit like standing on consecrated ground. He gave Tim a shove as he let go of his shirt. “Thought  _ that  _ might’a discorporated me.” He wiped at his lips with the back of his hand, trying to forget that petal-like softness, that open-bloom embrace of Tim’s mouth.

“Don’t go discorporating yourself against my will,” Tim demanded. He straightened his shirt. “That means you stay away from churches, and don’t… be doing things that could discorporate you.” He frowned.

“Turns out I’m immune to angel kisses,” Eric boasted. “Or,” he grinned, “you’re easily tempted.”

Tim didn’t think it was appropriate to say, but--he would have done nearly anything to save Eric. If that meant being tempted into a kiss like that, perhaps being a guardian angel over this demon wouldn’t be so bad.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley try to make up for lost time. Eric and Tim return to the bookshop at an inopportune time.

Eric and Tim walked home together. Well, Eric wouldn't put it that way, only they were heading in the same direction for a while, and the angel still seemed to have his head in the clouds when it came to getting around London.

"Bookshop's just that way," Eric said on the corner near Crowley's apartment.

“Oh.” Tim had thought they would go back to the bookshop together. “Right.” He turned to smile at Eric, then looked around at the crossroads. “Erm… which way?” he asked gingerly.

Eric smirked and shook his head. “You really are helpless,” he teased. “Come on.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and led on with a shrug of his shoulder.

A heavy silence lay between them, filled in with the ever present noise of London. Tim couldn’t read Eric--the demon seemed tired, but there was a smirk lingering on his lips.

“How are you feeling?” Tim asked gently. After all, the demon had nearly discorporated.

“Why d’you care?” Eric snapped back automatically. He saw how his tone struck Tim like a blow, and he opened his mouth, but didn’t know what to say. Much to his surprise, Tim piped up.

“I’m supposed to protect you.”

“What?” Eric balked. “Nah--you’re not supposed to be protecting me. You’re supposed to be thwarting me!”

“Right…” Tim shut his eyes and shook his head. “I keep forgetting. I mean--not forgetting, but… My job is usually to protect.”

Eric frowned at Tim. “... You feel bad for not protecting me?”

“Yes,” Tim said earnestly. “I should be the one keeping you out of trouble, but… You’ve had to keep me out of trouble.”

Eric snorted. “You sure do get into a lot of trouble for an angel. Thought you knew your way around.”

“It’s different, going about like this,” Tim said. He looked around the street, and Eric could see the way his eyes glazed over, as if it were all too much to take in. “I feel… stupid,” Tim laughed hollowly.

“You’re not stupid,” Eric argued. “You thwarted me at every turn today.”

Tim brightened as he looked at Eric. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Eric scoffed. “Right thorn in my side.” Tim looked more like himself with that smile on. It was better that way.

“Thank you,” Tim said warmly.

Eric bristled. “Don’t thank me. We’re adversaries.”

Tim just smiled. “I’ll do my best to be a worthy adversary.”

Despite the chill in the air, Eric felt hot under the collar.

“You wily serpent--behave yourself!”

“I have been behaving myself, angel,” Crowley whined. “I’ve been behaving myself for weeks…”

Aziraphale felt his resolve melting away like butter in a hot pan. They had been able to steal away hardly a moment alone since renewing their vows as godfathers, and so swiftly on the tails of finally being free to express the love that had been brewing between them for six thousand years.

Crowley had been casually draped on one of the couches in the back room, but his languid frame had swiftly found its way around Aziraphale’s once the angel joined him. The heat of Crowley’s breath against his neck had quickened Aziraphale’s pulse, and he found himself under the eager ministrations of the demon’s lips.

“At the very least, we should move somewhere a bit more private…” Aziraphale breathed.

“And waste another few minutes alone?” Crowley’s hips slotted between Aziraphale’s and he bit his lip, hungry serpentine eyes peering over his glasses.

Aziraphale found his hands winding into Crowley’s hair, feeding his beloved a few more kisses. He was weak to see that honest want in his lover’s gaze, no longer kept under lock and key behind those dark shades.

Their moans tangled between their locked lips, relieved and full of want. Aziraphale had always had a penchant for enjoying the pleasures of life on Earth, and the physical aspect had swiftly mounted his list of favorite pleasures when it came to Crowley.

“We’ll be quick,” Crowley hissed against Aziraphale’s lips.

The angel muffled a groan. “I don’t want it to be quick, dear boy…”

Their lips melted together once more, Crowley carding his fingers through soft curls.

“Mr. Crowley?”

Crowley went rigid and promptly leapt to his feet, shoving his glasses into place over his irritated eyes.

Eric and Tim stood in the threshold, staring at the demon standing stiff and stock-still and the angel hurriedly fussing with his waistcoat as he sat up.

Crowley’s lips pursed so hard they practically turned white. The mutual surprised looks on the young angel and demon’s faces shifted into mutual looks of awe. Crowley didn’t know what to make of that--he was too busy trying to drum up a suitable excuse.

“Well?” Crowley finally spat out. “How didjado?” His words ran over themselves in an effort to swiftly move past the compromising position he’d been caught in.

“Uh…” Eric looked at Tim. “Good--great!” He was not about to admit he’d almost been discorporated, so he was met with a similar predicament of coming up with a suitable excuse. “Yeah, uh--it was good.”

“Good,” Crowley said quickly. “Right. Well.” He cleared his throat and almost looked at Aziraphale. He was afraid he might give himself away if he looked at the angel. “I think that’s enough… ngk--w-wiling for today. Off we go.”

The air was so thick with tension, neither Eric or Tim said a word. Eric gave Tim a glance, then tottered off after Crowley’s long strides to get out of the bookshop.

Tim watched them go, then turned back to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale cleared his throat and folded his hands in his lap, exerting as much poise and composure as possible. “So… your first day out in the field with Eric…”

Tim walked over to the couch quickly and sat down beside Aziraphale, aglow with excitement. “Mr. Fell,” he said eagerly, eyes darting to the closed bookshop door and back to Aziraphale. “You were trying to  _ save  _ your adversary, weren’t you?”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened as a nervous smile emerged on his lips. “Well…”

“You’re trying to save his soul, aren’t you?”

“I s-suppose it’s something like that…” Aziraphale said anxiously.

“It’s not just about thwarting! I knew it,” Tim said happily. “Even demons deserve redemption.” He felt filled with validation. It wasn’t wrong to try to protect his adversary! He didn’t have to just fight him--he could save him.

Aziraphale relaxed slightly, looking fondly at Tim. “Yes… even demons can be redeemed. In a manner of speaking…”

“You’re so brave, Mr. Fell,” Tim said warmly.

“Brave?” Aziraphale laughed.

“Mr. Crowley is such a powerful demon.”

“Yes… I suppose he is…”

“Oh, Mr. Fell, I’m so glad,” Tim gushed.

“Glad?”

“That I know now how I can save my adversary.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “Oh dear.”

“It’s about love.” Tim’s smile was so sweet, Aziraphale’s heart melted. “If I love my adversary, I can protect him. I can save him.”

“N-now, Tim, dear, that’s--well,” Aziraphale squared his shoulders best he could and put on his most scholarly voice, “That’s some very… advanced technique. It can be quite dangerous.” The steel in his kind eyes was real. Lord only knows how Eric would respond to…  _ that  _ kind of ‘salvation.’ Not to mention, there were the Powers That Be to be concerned about. Aziraphale couldn’t be altogether certain that his and Crowley’s respective offices were aware of the nature of their relationship. If so, they very well might have dismissed it as typical “traitor” behavior.

Aziraphale was well aware that he was already on Heaven’s shit list, and leading little lambs ‘astray’ by influence of his own choices was surely not the way to avoid celestial ire. However, seeing the utter joy in Tim’s eyes made him soft. This young angel was no warrior--it must have come as some relief that he didn’t have to resort to violence.

Tim looked at Aziraphale, fighting very hard to hide the unspoken truth on his lips: he had already tried this technique. And it had worked! Well, at least in some small way. It hadn’t been the same sort of salvation he saw Aziraphale exerting on Crowley, not really.

“Best not…” Aziraphale gave Tim’s knee a pat, “... rush things.”

Tim nodded thoughtfully, his gaze drifting away. “It’s a bit like learning to read. Or learning how to navigate the mortal world. Or… watching a plant grow.” He smiled softly, then lifted his bright eyes back to his mentor. “It takes time. Patience. Care.”

Aziraphale relaxed, finally letting out the air held tight in his lungs. “Yes,” he agreed. “It takes time.” The patient acceptance in Tim’s face made Aziraphale proud. The young guardian angel was wise, despite his station and inexperience with the world at large. “It took me a very long time before I felt… capable of saving Crowley,” Aziraphale found himself admitting.

Tim perked up. “Could you teach me, Mr. Fell?”

“Teach you what?” Aziraphale asked, lips pursed.

“About love. I’ve never felt anything like it before,” Tim said softly. His gaze traveled over Aziraphale’s chest, smile growing. “You were radiating with it.”

Aziraphale’s cheeks colored and he chuckled through the prickling shyness to be so  _ seen  _ by another angel. “I… can teach you about love. But love is no sure thing, my dear boy. There are elements that cannot be taught. Only felt.”

Tim nodded. “And it must be hard--loving a demon. It’s easy for us to love, but…” The angel’s brow narrowed thoughtfully, “is it harder for them to accept love?”

Aziraphale was caught off guard by Tim’s comprehension, and touched by his intuition. “... Yes. It can be very difficult.”

“I’ll do my very best!” Tim said with determination.

Aziraphale was at a loss for words. This… certainly had not been what he had intended to impart upon Tim. In fact, it was blessed near the opposite of what he had hoped Tim would take away from this conversation. And yet… it surely could not hurt to let this young angel share a little of his love with that poor, wretched “disposable” demon. Crowley’s student, against thousands of years of pain, torture, and casual discorporation, had already shown some improvements. He was not so much  _ inherently  _ pure evil, only  _ meant  _ to be pure evil.

If either Head Office had their druthers, Eric would be ignoring Crowley’s tutelage toward lesser evil, and Tim would be reporting Aziraphale for fraternization. Perhaps the “true” nature of Good and Evil held less water than either side thought.

“What was all that then, Mr. Crowley?” Eric asked, practically bouncing on his toes as he hovered beside Crowley. “Hmm?” His long eyelashes fluttered.

Crowley shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and cursed these mortal corporations for rushing blood hither and yon at the slightest emotional disturbance. Least the blood was rushing to his cheeks and away from where it had been focused moments ago.

“Tempting your adversary?” Eric asked, trying to catch Crowley’s eye by hovering on his opposite side, giving a waggle of his eyebrows.

Crowley jerked his chin away, a hissed sort of growl rumbling in his throat.

“Oho ~ Mr. Crowley, you really  _ are  _ the tops!” Eric said brightly with a skip in his step.

This wasn’t exactly the reaction Crowley had been expecting from Eric, but he was at a loss as to whether  _ this  _ was any better than the condemnation he anticipated from anyone on Hell’s side.

“Temptin’ humans is one thing, but temptin’ angels…” Eric said, trying to smother his admiration in a conversational tone. “How’d you do it?”

Crowley could hear the wonder in Eric's voice, and it set his teeth on edge. No. No, this was a bad thing. Very, very bad. He couldn’t have Eric trying to tempt that poor angel kid!

“S’ very advanced,” Crowley muttered darkly, putting on that gravitas that made Eric shut up and listen.

The tone had a Pavlovian effect on Eric, who grew somber and curious, hanging onto Crowley’s every word.

Now Crowley just needed to come up with some words. His tongue felt thick and useless in his mouth. Why did he have to use it to give a lesson now? He should have been snogging with his angel! Bless it all.

“Takes years to tempt an angel,” Crowley bit out. “Centuries.” That should buy him some time.

Eric hummed thoughtfully. “Gotcha,” he said. His fingers traced the familiar, ragged edge of his scarf as he thought about how he’d kissed Tim just earlier that day. Not even an hour ago. It had been a sort of temptation. Kept him from discorporating, anyway. Low-level evil, at best, he figured. But considering the circumstances--it was a little questionable, given that Tim had whisked him away from being burned up on consecrated ground, had actively been trying to prevent him being discorporated…

But it was still a kiss. Still counted as entry-level pleasure of the flesh, didn’t it? And Tim hadn’t resisted at all! Maybe he was more susceptible, being just a guardian angel and all. Might not take years or centuries for him to tempt Tim. He could  _ defeat  _ Tim, prove his worth to Crowley, to all the other demons. He tilted his head, masking his thoughts with a contemplative frown.

Crowley was grateful for Eric’s silence. Then swiftly put on edge by it. Eric was never silent--not out of choice. His brow furrowed and he looked over at the shorter demon. “Eric… What have you got into your head…?”

“Hm?” Eric blinked innocently up at Crowley. “Oh, nothin’, Mr. Crowley.”

Crowley stopped short and took Eric by the shoulder. “Don’t ‘nothin’’ me, kid. You’re still…” he sighed, then went on begrudgingly, “my trainee. You’re gonna set off all sorts of alarm bells if you try to tempt your  _ adversary. _ ”

Crowley was glad to see that put a little bit of the fear of Satan in Eric. “Don’t go falling in love with your angel,” he said sagely, then gave Eric a clap on the shoulder.

Eric was frozen in place as Crowley turned after delivering this piece of advice. What did Crowley just say? He blinked into the empty space where Crowley had been for a full thirty seconds before he could organize his tongue into speech.

“Who said anything about love?!” he called after Crowley, staggering after him to catch up.

Crowley stopped short, tensed as if a bucket of ice water had just been dumped down the back of his sleek coat. “Ngk.” He heard Eric’s footsteps pounding on the pavement behind him, so he forced himself forward. “You heard me!”


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim receives a summons to come before the Archangel Council.

In the wake of  _ the incident,  _ Crowley and Aziraphale thought it prudent to keep their wards busy on their own for a few days. Long enough to distract them from trying anything of the ‘wiles’ or ‘thwarting’ they had seen their mentors doing. Both “traitors” were wary of what cataclysm might befall their tenuous peace if Eric or Tim realized the true nature of their relationship. They may have fought through the literal end of the world to earn their freedom, but if the Archangels’ visit was anything to go by, Heaven and Hell were only too eager to find a reason to try the traitors again.

Guardian angels were entities of order. They were used to a regimen, a sequence to guide their hands as they worked tirelessly to sort through the minor prayers and pains of their mortal flock. The nature of a multiplicity made it easy to accept vague commands and dispense all the varieties and nuance of said command throughout the many arms of their Collective.

Tim was still adjusting to life as a singular entity. Aziraphale, in his wisdom and kindness, had noticed Tim’s anxiety and assuaged it by giving the angel things to do. The bookshop kept itself well. It accrued only an appropriate amount of dust to suit the aesthetic of such a shop. The proprietor’s method of organization was impossible to divine, and not something Aziraphale could easily instruct Tim in.

But Aziraphale found little tasks for Tim to do. Despite the preternatural lack of dust, Aziraphale told Tim to keep his hands busy with a feather duster. It gave Tim a chance to practice reading, skimming along the spines of the many books. He gave the angel permission to straighten things up a bit, despite how it irked Aziraphale some to see the bookshop  _ so  _ orderly. Then, there was the mail. Most mail did not find its way to the bookshop’s address, but the occasional envelope, flyer, or mis-sorted mail dropped through the letter slot. Aziraphale had made it Tim’s esteemed job to sort these odds and ends.

Tim perked up as he heard the tell-tale creak-click of the letter slot, pausing in his adjustment of the books on the front table. It brought a smile to his face to have some active duty to attend to.

His eyes widened as he picked up the single envelope and found it was addressed to in Enochian--to  _ him _ . A chill went down his spine. He had been inhabiting this solitary corporation for a good three weeks, and in that time he had been practicing English so much, the rush of familiarity Enochian brought put his nerves on edge.

As Tim clutched the letter close, he felt a sudden wave of melancholy. He had felt small brushes with an emotion he could not quite put his finger on. It came when he saw Aziraphale and Crowley speaking together, or when Eric shrugged off his gentle questions, or worse, his natural instinct to touch. The feeling was not quite sadness. It was almost as if he had forgotten something--as if there were something out of place.

And since  _ the incident,  _ Tim hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the demons who had become part of his new routine for almost a week. He had been so looking forward to enacting this newfound tactic against the demon he felt compelled to protect, not fight. It felt as if Aziraphale was trying to protect  _ him  _ from something, but it only left him feeling isolated.

All at once, Tim realized how  _ lonely  _ this place was. The letter in his hands felt like a lifeline, a letter from home. He peeked over his shoulder. He knew he had nothing to hide, and yet, this letter was something that belonged to him and him alone. He could feel Aziraphale in the depths of the bookshop making himself a fresh cup of tea. Even so, Tim hid among the stacks before he opened the letter.

_ Guardian Angel Designation: 𝟙⊘ƼȺҠӠ९⊘@ɀ𝟙 _

_ It has come to the attention of Headquarters ⊘⊘ϩ that an unauthorized corporation has been issued from Collective Ɛㄣގ. Report promptly to HQ ⊘⊘ϩ for assessment and assignment. _

_ ᏗᏒፈᏂᏗᏁᎶᏋᏝ ፈᎧᏬᏁፈᎥᏝ _

Tim’s throat tightened as he read the letter. He worried as he realized he was gripping the fine stationary so tightly it had creased on the edges. Swiftly flattening the paper against his shirt, he swallowed and read the letter again. It wasn’t  _ strictly  _ a reprimand, but it was no commendation for the work he had been assigned by Principality Aziraphale.

“M-Mr. Fell?” Tim wasted no time in seeing to this matter. He felt he might discorporate if he tarried too long.

Aziraphale paused where he was about to sit with the morning paper. His smile softened on Tim, about to remind him that there was no need to call him such, but the expression on the young angel’s face gave him pause.

“Yes, dear boy? Is something amiss?”

Tim didn’t want Aziraphale to worry, so he put on a brave smile. “Oh, nothing much. I um… I need to step out for a bit. I hope that’s okay.”

Aziraphale couldn’t for the life of him imagine what Tim needed outside of the bookshop. However, seeing any sort of autonomy in the guardian angel gladdened his heart. The young angel had been nothing if not deferential since he had been drawn out of the ether. No matter how Aziraphale asked, Tim never requested anything for himself. He awaited orders--whether they come from Aziraphale or from his demanding adversarial foil.

“Of course, Tim. You are free to do as you please,” Aziraphale assured him warmly.

Relief shone obvious on Tim’s face. “Thank you, sir.”

Aziraphale’s smile dimmed. He had never grown accustomed to “sir,” even when he had been commander of his own battalion. He put down his tea and set the paper on the settee. “You’re going out, then?” he asked lightly and strode over to Tim.

“Yes, sir. I-I hope… not to be too long.” Tim smiled nervously. He wondered if he should tell Aziraphale about the letter, about his fears. But Aziraphale would only worry. Tim wanted to avoid burdening Aziraphale with his own concerns.

“I think a map would be lost on you, dear boy,” Aziraphale said. “But I would be remiss if I didn’t give you some way to find your way back.” He twisted the gold ring on his pinky thoughtfully. “London is a right maze. Even I find myself lost at times.” This was an exaggeration, but Aziraphale didn’t want Tim to feel singled out for his trouble navigating.

“Oh.” Tim hadn’t given much thought to  _ how  _ he was going to find Headquarters. He could feel a faint pull in the air--something that drew him toward home. Getting back was another thing entirely. The holiness of the bookshop seemed to have faded with age, or perhaps it was particularly well camouflaged. “Right. Finding my way back. I hadn’t--”

“Not to worry, dear boy,” Aziraphale assured him before Tim could fret any further. He gave the young angel a pat on the shoulder, then made a casual gesture with his plump fingers.

Tim felt a minor miracle flutter about his throat. He reached up to touch the new accessory that had appeared at his collar.

Aziraphale straightened a neat little tartan bowtie that now sat at the top button of Tim’s pristine shirt. “A little gift,” he chuckled warmly. “It will help you find your way home.”

_ Home. _ Tim swallowed and looked up at Aziraphale. Was this his home now? It didn’t feel like home. Not like the home he had known his whole life. He was alone here, all by himself. And yet… he had no orders here. He was free--untethered.

But Aziraphale, the angel who had gifted him with this solitary existence, called it  _ home. _ A warm, fuzzy feeling blossomed in Tim’s chest. He touched the bowtie in the wake of Aziraphale’s hands, but felt the weight of the letter in his pocket.

“Thank you,” Tim said quietly.

“Of course,” Aziraphale murmured. He could see the conflict in Tim’s open-window eyes, and he worried. “Mind how you go,” he said and gave the angel one last pat on the shoulder.

Tim nodded and managed one more grateful smile at Aziraphale before he turned. He fetched his coat and stepped out into the noisy mortal chaos of the street.

London was always a minefield of sensory overload, but Tim felt a singular focus as he walked the street. He was led by the fine red string of fate toward his destination, drawn by the pull of some Heavenly force.

He looked around nervously as he entered the large, empty lobby of Head Office. The floor was cold--preternaturally cold to combat the opposite office that lay far below, held in mirrored stasis below the Heavenly office. With a shiver, he moved toward the staircase that led up, holding tightly to his letter.

As Tim pushed open the massive door to Head Office, a rush of celestial light washed over him and he was overcome with a sense of calm. He breathed deep of the familiar essence, like fresh-washed sheets and crisp spring air.

The office was a spacious room, empty and clean, polished white floors and glittering glass windows. He felt so small as he walked tentatively inside. There was no one--except for a desk set in the center of the vacant room, at which was seated a tidy-looking angel.

Tim approached quietly, but even his timid steps echoed in the expanse. The angel did not look up from their paperwork.

“Ah… um, hullo--”

“Do you have an appointment?” the angel asked in a clear, small voice.

Tim fumbled with his letter, trying at the last moment to straighten it neatly.

The angel lifted a hand, but continued their work without looking up. Taking Tim’s letter, they finally shifted their attention. “Ah, yes. Unauthorized corporation. Just a moment.” The angel touched their fingers to their ear and spoke so softly Tim could barely hear them, even in the great quiet of the large office. He strained to hear, to glean any kind of indication of the tone of this meeting to abate how much his palms were sweating. Gosh, corporations were inconvenient.

“They’ll see you now,” the angel told him and smiled thinly. “Thank you for your prompt appearance.”

Tim felt a rush of relief and he bowed quickly. “Th-thank you,” he replied awkwardly. He fidgeted, uncertain if he was supposed to stay or go.

The angel returned to their work. It was only after a minute or two of Tim’s fidgeting that they noticed he was still standing before their desk. “That way,” they said stiffly, gesturing to one side of the empty office.

“Right. Thank you,” Tim said again. He hurried off in the direction indicated. There was no promise he was heading in the right direction--just more of the empty space of the office. Just as he was starting to worry he had somehow gotten lost, he noticed a few figures standing around a glass-topped table in the distance. He hurried double-time to approach.

“Ah, it’s here.” Sandalphon was the first to notice the meek figure approaching.

“Excellent.” Gabriel clasped his hands together. “Now, let’s get this sorted.”

Tim’s breath caught as he came into the audience of the Archangel Council. He stiffly came to attention, then bowed low. “Your Graces,” he breathed in awe.

Gabriel gave the Guardian Angel a tight-lipped smile. “Well, it doesn’t appear to be malfunctioning. Manners are intact,” he mused. “State the designation and Collective group,” he addressed Tim.

The young angel straightened and stared ahead, not meeting the eyes of his superiors. “Designation 𝟙⊘ƼȺҠӠ९⊘@ɀ𝟙 , from Collective Ɛㄣގ, Your Grace.” He cleared his throat quietly. “Earthbound a-alias: Tim.” His eyes darted up to Gabriel’s, just for a moment, long enough to see that storm cloud stare.

“Alias?” Gabriel scoffed and looked to his fellow archangels. He gave a little shake of his head. “Who authorized this corporeal form?”

Tim felt the reassuring tension of his bowtie as he swallowed. “Principality Aziraphale, Your Grace.”

“Oh, bother,” Sandalphon muttered. Michael sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. Uriel’s hands clasped more tightly behind their back.

Gabriel sighed wearily and shuffled papers tensely. The rasp of paper stung Tim’s ears like a razor. “What purpose does this corporation serve?”

“To… to thwart the wiles of demons, Your Grace.” Tim thought of Eric. His loneliness and desire to be here, in the grace of Heaven once more, was smothered by a great fear that he would never see Eric again.

“That is not your department,” Gabriel said stonily.

“... No, Your Grace,” Tim said quietly. He didn’t know what came over him, but the words bubbled up before he could stop them. “But it is my duty to protect Her flock on Earth from the forces of evil.”

The Council went very still. Was a Guardian Angel… speaking out of turn? In Their presence? Gabriel exchanged a look with Michael.

“The Principality Aziraphale has been disgraced,” Michael said stiffly.

“Hold on,” Gabriel said, staying Michael’s speech with a gesture. “Your Heavenly orders supercede any orders given by the traitor.”

Tim bit the inside of his cheek at the mention of ‘traitor.’ He had seen no traitorous behavior from Aziraphale. If anything, he thought the angel was doing more work on the front-lines of good than most Heavenly agents. “Yes, Your Grace,” Tim demurred with downcast eyes.

“Ahh…” mused Sandalphon.

Gabriel gave him a wink. “Then you will take new orders from a Higher Authority.”

Tim looked up at Gabriel. The Messenger looked stern, but his smile was surprisingly warm. He had been fully prepared for a reprimand, even for termination of his corporation. While he desperately wanted to return to the Collective, he was torn by his desire to see his task through with Eric. He felt stronger even from his limited training thus far. “Your Grace?” Tim asked tentatively.

“You will continue as you have been. But you will write detailed reports upon all that you witness of the Former Principality Aziraphale. You will deliver these reports in written form, directly to us.”

Tim’s eyes widened. He was being given  _ more  _ work? Not terminated? He was so thrilled with the additional responsibility that he didn’t give a thought as to the intention of these reports. If anything, he was extra excited to have the chance to tell the archangels about all the good Aziraphale was sowing in his own subtle way.

“Is that understood?”

“Yes, Your Grace!” Tim gasped. “O-of course, Your Grace. Anything for the Council.”

Gabriel grinned. “Excellent. Well, that’s settled.”

Tim was buzzing with excitement. He’d been given a real job! Like a proper agent!

“... You are dismissed,” Michael said expectantly.

“Oh.” Tim deflated slightly from his proud posture. “I--um, I… could I make a request, Your Grace?” All eyes turned on him, sharp as knives, and Tim felt about two feet tall.

“Yes?” Michael bit out.

“I… I was wondering if I could… visit my Collective. I’ve… been apart for… some time…”

Gabriel glanced at the other archangels curiously. With a little chuckle, he said, “Sure. Probably do you some good.” He gave Tim a dubious look. “Your… uniform is looking a bit non-standard.” Not to mention the  _ alias  _ this little guardian angel had mentioned. Guardian angels weren’t meant to have  _ names. _ They were hardly considered entities at all in the solitary.

Tim sighed with gratitude. “Thank you, Your Grace. Thank you so much.” He beamed.

Gabriel couldn’t help but smile back at the sweet little angel. Their sweet little spy.

“You may use one of the prayer rooms. Keep you… contained.” With a nod, Gabriel indicated Uriel should escort the angel.

Tim couldn’t thank the Council enough as he was ushered into a room. Unlike the wide open space of Head Office, the prayer room was decorated in the style of Heaven, replete with ornamental marble columns and golden filigree. It was lined with dark wooden pews, and the altar was resplendent with a statue of Mother Mary and the Savior.

Uriel left Tim without a word, although the angel tried to turn and thank them. He found the door promptly shut on him. With a meek smile, he walked down the aisle between the pews. He could feel the glory and grace of Heaven around him. But it still felt… vacant. Empty. Lonely. Even with the celestial essence all around him, it paled in comparison to the embrace he had felt before.

Tim knelt before the altar and clasped his hands. He whispered his summons softly into the still air, barely able to restrain his excitement. He could feel them--all of them. A susurrus of wing and feather stirred the air around him, and he felt filled with the golden sun-baked warmth of his Collective.

Fingers whispered through his hair, past his cheeks, clasped his hands, his shoulders. He opened his eyes and turned quickly. The pews were filled with dozens of ethereal shades, apparitions of his Collective that he alone could see. The room was crowded with them, surrounding him with welcoming embraces and fond touches, a thousand little voices running over each other.

_ You’re back! -- Where did you go? _

_ Where have you been? _

_ Oh, Earth! -- It’s so much nosier in your ears. _

_ Who’s that? -- Oh, a Principality? _

_ Tim? -- Tim. -- Tim! -- Tim. -- Tim?? -- Tim has a name! -- Why should he have a name? _

_ Demons! -- Demons! _

_ Friend? -- Demon friends? _

Tim laughed joyfully, bowled over by the rush of questions as his experiences were integrated into the collective consciousness. “One thing at a time,” he laughed. “I know, I know--it’s hard to share everything from this corporeal brain.”

_ We missed you. -- Missed you! -- Come back. _

“He’s-- I know. I know, I missed you too.” Tim’s eyes prickled with tears. He sniffled. “I’ll tell you everything.”

_ We know everything. -- All of it. -- Tim… -- I like it. -- I like him. _

“He’s not-- he’s not my friend,” Tim tried to explain. “He’s my… adversary.” Tim had never actually referred to Eric as such. Eric made not two ways about it. He always called him ‘adversary.’ The word felt strange on Tim’s lips. It sounded somehow more like ‘friend’ than ‘enemy.’

_ Friendversary. -- Frenemy! -- You like him. _

“He’s surprisingly nice, for a demon.”

_ Nice demon. -- Good demon. _

“I-I don’t know about nice…” Tim demurred. “But he’s not quite…” He pursed his lips. “Anyway--he’s a… a multiplicity. Like us.”

_ He is many. -- We are many. -- He is battalion. -- No, no. -- He is-- No, no! _

“I learned a secret from Mr. Fell. About  _ saving  _ demons. Did you know?” His mind was filled with fluttering laughter, a thousand familiar self-same voices ringing with delight. His cheeks colored, and he could feel spectral fingers poking and pinching his face playfully. They rarely had the chance to touch a corporeal version of themselves.

“Can you imagine? Us?” Tim looked around at his many selves, beaming. “Savior to a demon.” Tim wanted to make Aziraphale proud. He wanted to make a difference. He knew that if he followed the goodness in his heart, he could save Eric.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time passes differently while Tim is with his Collective, leaving Eric antsy and adversary-less.

“But why is he gone?!” Eric exploded.

“It’s only been three days,” Crowley muttered from where he was perched in his chair. Eric had taken over his living room--well, more accurately, Crowley had ended up making his couch up into a bed and hung a curtain to give the demon some privacy. He didn’t do it to be  _ nice-- _ he did it so Eric would have some place to go so he wasn’t always hanging around in Crowley’s office or atrium. The disposable demon had respected Crowley’s rules about not venturing deeper into the flat, but Crowley could hear him talking to himself or to his avocado seed at all hours. Cordoning him off to the living room was the only compromise to keep him sane.

Crowley had lived alone for thousands of years, and much of that in blissful silence and solitude. Since the Apocanot, he had spent more and more of his time in the company of a certain angel, but Aziraphale company was familiar--and much quieter than Eric’s.

But those many years of solitude were not necessarily by choice, but by circumstance. He simply couldn’t just run into Aziraphale  _ all  _ the time. Of course he could admit now how much he had looked forward to those times. 

In the beginning, surrounded by so many humans, simple mortal beings that he had so little in common with, the yearning to be around another being that  _ got it,  _ that understood the complexity and vastness of Creation had been strong. But there had also been a lot more to keep him busy, then. The whole wiling business had been booming, and orders from Downstairs had come rapid fire. Making big, showy temptations had never been Crowley’s style, but even the small things kept him busy.

His desire to bump into the charming, soft angel, his foil and adversary on Earth, had only grown stronger as they came to an agreement--that life on Earth was a bit sweeter than all the tempting and thwarting and paperwork.

“Mr. Fell said he had some… some  _ business  _ to attend to,” Eric said incredulously. “If he’s out doin’ good, then  _ I  _ should be out thwarting him!”

“And you been out looking for him ever since.”

“I can’t find him. What if he’s gotten lost?”

Crowley raised a brow and looked over at Eric. The young-looking demon’s anger was tempered with worry. “What  _ if  _ he’s gotten lost?” Crowley plied.

“I can’t lose my adversary! I’ve only just got him.”

Crowley smirked and returned his attention to his magazine. “Wouldn’t worry about it too much,” he said calmly.

“Yeah, well, it’s not your adversary that’s gone missing,” Eric said grumpily. “ _ Your  _ adversary’s always easy to find. He’s got a bookshop, n’ you know what restaurants he likes.”

“He hasn’t always had a bookshop,” Crowley said lightly.

“So how would you find him? Back then?” Eric asked, verging on desperation.

“Sometimes I wouldn’t.” Crowley frowned thoughtfully. “Not for a hundred some odd years, here and there.”

“A hundred years?!” Eric moaned.

Crowley couldn’t help but smile sympathetically. Demons these days--all about instant gratification. No patience. “Eric,” Crowley said, trying to ground the demon’s spiraling misery. “How old are you?”

Eric’s attention centered on the firm way Crowley said his name. “I dunno. Been around… few thousand years.”

Crowley’s eyebrows raised curiously. “You don’t know?”

“It’s hard to count,” Eric said defensively.

“How many corporations you got?”

“Six hundred sixty-six,” he replied easily.

“‘Course you do,” Crowley snorted. “What, you can’t count higher than that?”

Eric bristled. “I can count, Mr. Crowley.” The demon rubbed at his arm. “Only it’s all… fuzzy.”

Crowley knew a thing or two about Eric. Not much, but enough to know that once upon a time, ‘Eric’ had a different name--a name with power. The multiplicity of Eric had appeared in Hell after a bit of trouble on Earth. It was all pretty hush-hush, and Crowley frankly didn’t care to get involved in politics Downstairs. Besides, he’d been busy showing a certain son of God the kingdoms of the world.

“What’s the first thing you remember?” Crowley asked, his voice soft.

“Falling. But not--not like  _ the  _ Fall. I don’t remember that, thank Satan.”

Crowley’s brow tensed, his jaw tight. Better not to remember that.

“I remember falling--a lot. Like, a whole herd of me--like, uh… lemmings,” Eric laughed, but the sound was devoid of humor. “Fell into the sea. Couldn’t swim. Still don’t know how to swim.”

It disturbed Crowley how easily Eric spoke about discorporating. It was his first memory, apparently, his whole multiplicity falling into the sea. Drowning. It was no million mile dive into the pits of Hell, but it was a terrible punishment in its own right.

“I’m sorry,” Crowley said finally.

Eric blinked up at Crowley. “It was a long time ago,” he said, as if that made it alright.

Crowley pursed his lips. He still wasn’t very good at the whole ‘comfort’ thing. Besides, it felt distinctly uncomfortable for two demons to try and express their sympathy. He was arguably the most practiced, but turning the feeling in his mind, in his soul, into words did not come easily.

“Point is--” he said, clearing his throat. “Point is, you’ve been around a long time.”

“So?”

“So, what’s a few days? Tim’ll come back.”

Eric let out a despondent sigh.

Crowley watched as the demon shoved his hands in his pockets and trudged past him, heading into his office. There was nothing else to say--he couldn’t promise that Tim would come back. He might not. Even Aziraphale hadn’t been able to promise that Tim would return. All he could say was that Tim was safe. In confidence, Aziraphale had told Crowley that Tim appeared to be back in the company of his Collective. The worried way in which he had delivered this brokered no more questions from Crowley.

In the wake of  _ the incident,  _ Crowley wondered if the separation had crumbled the whole arrangement between their ‘students.’ If Tim wasn’t in active duty against the forces of Evil, perhaps he had to return to his Collective. Well, then, what the Heaven was Crowley supposed to do with Eric now?

Eric shuffled through Crowley’s office and into the atrium. He looked around at all the verdant plants growing fearfully lustrous, then at the one plant that belonged to him. It didn’t look like much--just a hard, round pit suspended by toothpicks. It looked more like a science experiment than a plant.

Eric crouched down in front of the seed and glared at it. “Tim’s gone. All I got is you, you worthless little pit.” Crowley had helped him prepare the seed two weeks ago, and since then Eric had eagerly awaited some sign of progress.

“Some demon I am,” Eric grumbled. “Mr. Crowley don’t like my work… Adversary’s left…. And you! You won’t even grow!” he shouted, shaking his fist at the innocuous seed. The pit wobbled a bit on its toothpicks.

“I dunno why he left…” Eric said quietly. “Was I too nice?” He frowned. “Was I too mean? Mr. Crowley keeps tryin’ to teach me, and I just don’t understand. It don’t make a lick of sense…” He sighed heavily.

“I thought…” Eric picked at the frayed edge of his scarf. “I thought I was startin’ to get it… I mean…” He sighed again, shoulder deflating. “I was tryin’ to be like how Mr. Crowley is with his adversary. It’s not all--big battles and ass kickin’ like I thought. Sometimes it’s just talkin’, and I…”

Eric trailed off, wracked with that tight knot of confusion in his chest. He didn’t just miss messing with Tim, challenging him--he missed talking with him. He missed having him around.

“Maybe I’m a bad adversary. Maybe I’m not cut out for it, n’ Tim got bored of me…” Eric rocked back on his heels, fingering the tattered edge of his scarf. “He was good…” he admitted quietly. “And ‘e… ‘e saved me…”

Eric heard a creak, so small it could have been the floor settling. But the floor was solid stone, as were the walls. He looked up and there, on his avocado seed, was a fine hair-line crack that had not been there before. His eyes widened.

“Mr. Crowley!” he called, jumping to his feet.

“What?” Crowley called back from the other room.

“Mr. Crowley, my avocado!” he said, panic in his voice.

Crowley rocked himself up to his feet and meandered into the atrium. “What about it?” he asked, raising a brow.

“It just cracked!” Eric said, his voice breaking as he stared at the damaged seed.

“Hmm?” Crowley’s brow narrowed thoughtfully. He gently shouldered Eric out of the way and bent down to inspect it. He lifted his glasses and squinted serpentine eyes at it. A smile spread across his lips.

“I-I didn’t mean to break it,” Eric panicked. “Oh, I wasn’t yellin’ at it like I was supposed to… I fucked up again,” he groaned as he twisted his scarf.

Crowley straightened, his smile bemused as he looked down at Eric. “What did you say to it?” he wondered.

Eric floundered and heat flooded to his cheeks. “I-I dunno,” he muttered evasively.

With the way Eric was chewing at his lip, Crowley doubted he would get a straight answer out of the younger demon. He let Eric continue to stew until he looked at him with despair peering up from those long, thick lashes.

“S’what it’s supposed to do,” Crowley said finally. “It’s sprouting.”

Eric’s jaw hung slack. “What?” he breathed.

“Whatever you said, I’d say keep saying it,” Crowley told him. He gave Eric a little pat on the shoulder. The demon was standing so limply, so in shock, that the pat to his shoulder rattled him.

Crowley turned, stretching his legs as he walked. “Come on. I think a trip to the garden centre is in order.”

Eric stared down at the little seed, barely listening to Crowley. He crouched back down in front of it quickly, staring the imperfect seed down with wide eyes. “Tim,” he whispered. “I’ve gotta be a worthy adversary for Tim.”

“You coming?” Crowley called back.

“Coming!” Eric bounced back up to his feet.

The tiny crack grew just a little bit wider.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim returns and discovers he's been gone longer than expected. He seeks out his sulking adversary to let him know he's back.

“I’ve been gone for  _ how  _ long?” Tim gaped at Aziraphale.

“About four days, dear boy.” Aziraphale had hugged Tim something fierce when he suddenly reappeared at the bookshop, and his hands lingered on the young angel’s shoulders.

“I-I had no idea. I was-- erm…”

“You returned to the Collective, didn’t you?” Aziraphale asked gently.

Tim’s eyes lit up and he nodded. “Yes. Yes, I did.”

“It seems to have done you some good,” Aziraphale said warmly, rubbing at Tim’s arm. “You look well.”

Tim’s smile came soft and easy. “Yes, I… I suppose I was a bit homesick.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Aziraphale assured him. “But I am terribly glad you’re back.”

Tim looked quizzically at Aziraphale. “Why?”

Aziraphale blinked at that blank surprise on Tim’s face. “Why… I was worried about you! And, well…” The angel demurred sweetly. “I know a certain  _ adversary  _ who missed you something fierce.”

Tim’s eyes widened. Aziraphale had been… worried about him? It warmed his heart to hear, to know that he was wanted.  _ Here, at home,  _ he thought to himself. Yes, the bookshop felt like the embrace of a friend. It did not have the sterile quality Head Office had. It was filled with a kind of warmth Tim could not quite describe. Although nothing could replace the feeling of  _ unity  _ with his Collective, his visit to Head Office had not replenished him the way he had expected.

“Eric?” Tim asked with a breathless smile. “He  _ missed  _ me?”

Aziraphale chuckled. “Don’t tell him I told you that.” The smile on Tim’s lips was precious. Aziraphale wondered if perhaps  _ the incident  _ had made greater impact in the positive than he expected.

“Oh no,” Tim had a sudden realization, “Oh, I hope he hasn’t been causing you and Mr. Crowley too much trouble. It’s my duty to keep him--”

Aziraphale clasped his hands together and laughed. “Oh, no, no. Not to worry. He was more  _ dreary  _ than  _ troublesome. _ ”

Tim drew in a slow breath. “Oh, he must think he did something wrong!”

Aziraphale was charmed by the concern in Tim’s voice. “Perhaps you should go… clear the air with him?” he suggested gently. He gave Tim’s arm a little nudge with his knuckles. “Back to the ol’ adversarial grind?”

“Yes,” Tim agreed quickly. “Yes, I’ll do that.” He started to turn immediately, then stopped short. “Should I bring him a… gift?”

Aziraphale pursed his lips to contain his amusement. “I think your return will be gift enough, dear boy.”

Tim smiled hopefully, then nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Fell.” He took a quick step toward the door, then stopped short again. “It’s good to be home,” he told Aziraphale with a sunny smile, then stepped back out of the bookshop with a jingle.

“Welcome home,” Aziraphale said softly in Tim’s wake, his heart fit to burst with hope.

Tim left the bookshop without a second thought. Although he had only walked around London a handful of times, he had left Head Office with a fresh dose of confidence. Coalescing with his Collective had done him a world of good, integrating his new thoughts and experiences, compounding them amongst his brethren. He felt he had a greater understanding of all the new things he had learned and experienced--and he had compared notes about the mess of London geography so he was less likely to get turned around.

The bowtie Aziraphale had given him had worked like a charm. That is to say, Tim could not exactly explain  _ how  _ it worked, only that it had led him ‘home’ to the bookshop like a beacon.

Searching all of London for his adversary should have felt like a daunting task, but Tim knew he would find him. He checked the coffee shop in Mayfair that he knew Crowley and Eric frequented--his demon adversary had given him a lengthy discourse on the finer points of drinking elaborate, expensive coffee concoctions and taking up valuable table space for extended periods of time--then passed by Covent Garden--which, while noisy and crowded, revealed neither hide nor hair of Eric--before he circled back through St. James Park--through which he and Aziraphale had taken many a fine stroll, ensuring that no one fed bread to the ducks, but instead found more suitable treats, and gently lifting the spirits of Londoners by encouraging them to look at the beauty around them instead of hearing the noise of the city-- and finally to Kensington Gardens. He had made a wide enough tour of their usual haunts that he was sure he would have felt Eric’s special brand of mischief by now.

He walked along the Long Water, following the faintest hint of degeneracy in the air. Sure enough, just in front of the Peter Pan statue, a grumpy-looking demon in a sock cap was leaning on the railing, skipping stones out onto the water.

Eric straightened as he sniffed out something  _ holy  _ in the air. Like, really stunk. He looked left and right, then spotted him. His adversary!

“Tim!” he shouted, pointing at him. He ran at him full speed, boots slapping on the pavement.

Tim giggled and met Eric halfway, throwing his arms around him.

Eric had  _ not  _ been going for a hug and he quickly shoved the angel back. “You rotten bastard! Where the fuck have you been?!”

Tim’s smile was quickly wiped away by the sharp push. “Eric, I’m so sorry,” he said with a hurt look.

Eric looked Tim up and down with a flutter of worry. He’d be pissed if anything happened to his adversary. That was his job! “... Alright, then,” he said with a little nod. “You  _ reek. _ ”

Tim was swiftly reintroduced to Eric’s blunt nature, and he couldn’t help but laugh. Eric was so rough around the edges. It was refreshing after dealing with the pomp and circumstance of visiting the Council. “Do I?” he asked. “I received a summons from the Archangel Council, so I--”

“Cor--the Archangel  _ Council?  _ They have one too?”

“... Of course they do,” Tim said, bewildered. “There has to be a hierarchy--”

“What’d the big chickens want?”

“Eric! You can’t call the Archangel Gabriel a chicken!” Tim smothered the nervous laughter that threatened to spill from his lips with his knuckles.

“Just did, didn’t I?” he shot back with a grin.

“You’re terrible,” Tim said, trying to bite back the smile on his lips.

“Thanks f’r noticin’,” Eric said proudly, puffing out the open front of his coat. “So? What’d they want?” he asked, letting his coat sway back into place.

“Well, my corporation wasn’t exactly authorized…” he started, tucking a curl behind his ear.

“Are you in trouble?” Eric asked in a low voice.

“N-not exactly. I thought I was!” He shared an anxious look with Eric who was all too familiar with the pressures of the higher ups. “But, they actually gave me an assignment instead.”

“Woah,” Eric said. He pressed his lips together to keep from spilling that he was on assignment as well. He didn’t think he should spill that to his adversary. Especially since he wasn’t  _ exactly  _ keeping strictly to his mission.

“I think I’m the first guardian angel to get an assignment like this,” Tim said with a proud smile.

“Well, you’re not just any guardian angel!” Eric gave Tim a little punch on the shoulder. “Ya got an adversary,” he hissed with excitement.

Tim smiled. “Right.” He wasn’t just a guardian angel with human wards. He had his special demon ward, too.

“So how come you were gone so long?” Eric demanded. “Did they give ya special training or something?”

“No, I--” Tim’s excitement faltered. He wondered how long Eric had been apart from his own multiplicity. “I… returned to the Collective. For a bit.”

“Oh.” Eric blinked. “Was it… nice?”

“Yeah, it was great,” he said with a reluctant smile.

“Why’re you givin’ me that look?” Eric’s lips twisted in disgust.

“Wh-what? It’s nothing…” He shook his head. “Only… do you miss being around your multiplicity?” he asked gently.

Eric stuffed his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “Not really. I mean, I can sorta feel them all the time.”

Tim’s eyes blinked wide with curiosity. “Really?”

“Sure,” Eric said with a grin. “You can’t?”

“No. It’s like… I can feel them, but I’m… separate.”

Eric frowned. “S’not right. Bein’ apart from yourself like that.”

“Yeah…” Tim rubbed at his arm, his smile barely there.

Eric felt sorry for Tim, and it made him shiver. “Well. I’m here. So it’s not like you’re all alone.”

Tim looked up to meet Eric’s gaze. How kind of him to say… His smile brightened. “Your multiplicity all have corporations, too, right?” He laughed, “I could have a big group hug of Erics!”

“It’s not huggin’ we’d be doing!” Eric shot back defensively. He stared at Tim as his face grew hot. Oh. Well. That would certainly be a temptation… “W-we’d overpower you!” Oh, Satan. That wasn’t any less suggestive. But why should he care? He should  _ hope  _ Tim got the picture! Yeah, he’d tempt the Heaven out of Tim!

Tim grinned, all innocence, rising to the challenge. “I’d like to see you try.”

Eric swallowed hard. That surprisingly confident grin on Tim’s face wasn’t doing him any service.

“Well, do any bad deeds while I was gone?” Tim asked.

“Loads,” Eric boasted.

“Oh?”

“Y-yeah.” He wracked his brain to come up with something impressive to tell Tim. Mostly it had just been little stuff. “I misplaced some luggage on a train. And… and I tempted a guy to order way too much food at a restaurant!” he said boldly. “Two sins, that one--gluttony and uh, spending too much money.”

“Excess?” Tim offered. Seemed a bit like two types of one sin, but he didn’t want to rain on Eric’s parade.

“Yeah,” Eric agreed with a grin.

“Mr. Crowley must be proud,” Tim offered sweetly.

Eric scratched at his sock cap with a frown. “You’d think so.”

Tim frowned sympathetically. “He’s not?”

“I dunno…”

“Well, I’m back to thwart your wiles now,” Tim said, trying to lift Eric’s spirits. “Let’s do our best to make both Mr. Crowley and Mr. Fell proud.” He reached out and gave Eric’s shoulder a squeeze.

Eric peered up at Tim and smiled a bit. “Yeah,” he agreed with renewed zeal.

As his hand lingered on Eric’s shoulder, Tim realized it was the first time Eric hadn’t recoiled from his touch or batted his hand away. He smiled just a bit brighter.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale discuss how they should proceed, guiding their 'godsons' going forward. Eric and Tim emulate this strange ritual of "taking a load off" with one's adversary.

“So Tim’s back, then?” Crowley asked.

“Yes. And in high spirits!” Aziraphale said cheerfully.

“That’s good, I s’ppose.” Crowley picked at some nonexistent thread on the arm of the settee.

“What’s troubling you, dear?” Aziraphale hated when Crowley picked at his furniture.

Crowley’s brow furrowed over his glasses as he stared off into the distance, his chin resting on his knuckles, one finger tapping at his lips.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale approached his thoughtful demon. Crowley had a penchant for letting his words get away from him, or try to tumble out all at once, resulting in a solid ‘ngk.’ It was rare he was so lost in his thoughts.

“S’a bit more complicated this time.”

“What is?”

“Being godfathers.” Crowley let out a long sigh, brows lifting from their stormy tangle as he stretched out his long limbs. “They’re both grown, aren’t they?”

“Oh.” Aziraphale pursed his lips. “You mean… about… Well.” Where were his words now? He sank down onto the settee beside Crowley. “Did Eric speak with you about it?”

Crowley let out a sharp ‘ha!’ and let his brow fall into his hand. “Yeah.”

“And what did you tell him?” Aziraphale asked in a lilting, inquisitive tone.

“Mm… ‘Advanced technique,’” he said with mock severity. “Could take centuries, tempting your angel.” He lifted his head to grin at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale’s expression melted soft and sweet, a coy little giggle escaping him. “Safe bet, that,” he mused.

“And Tim?” Crowley asked wearily.

Aziraphale gave a little nod and worried at his lip. “He was…” He cleared his throat. “... Very enthusiastic.”

Crowley’s eyes widened behind his glasses.

“And pragmatic!” Aziraphale insisted, but couldn’t shift the concern from his face. “Oh, I didn’t know what to say, Crowley. I couldn’t  _ lie  _ to him.”

“You told him?”

“Heavens no!”

Crowley mashed his mouth into his knuckles again.

Aziraphale could feel the nervous energy radiating from Crowley, but he felt the need to better explain himself. “He wanted me to teach him about love.”

“Angels are beings of love, aren’t they? … Maybe not…  _ that  _ kind, the sort of mushy mortal kind,” he rambled quietly. Crowley raised his eyebrows at Aziraphale, and found his angel was smiling gently at him. “... You think that’s a good idea?”

“Well, what is our ultimate goal?” Aziraphale asked with some steel in his eyes.

Crowley shrank back from Aziraphale’s intensity. “This was all your idea, angel. I’m just trying to do some… good,” he said; the word still left a bad taste in his mouth.

“Right! Isn’t it a worthwhile pursuit to put a little more… moderation into the world?”

“What are you suggesting?”

Aziraphale huffed and sat up straighter. “I think it’s obvious what I’m suggesting, dear boy.”

Crowley looked exasperated. “You know I hate when you’re so obtuse.”

Aziraphale’s eyes blazed with that special kind of fire only his kind features could contain. “What was the point of saving the world if we continue to hide who we really are?”

Crowley’s glasses slipped down his nose a bit. “You mean…”

Aziraphale’s smile turned imploring on the demon. “Yes.” He took Crowley’s hand in his own, and the demon’s sharp angles softened. “They’ve already caught us in an… amorous embrace,” he said delicately. “What do we have to hide from them? They’re looking to us for guidance, and… I think we should be more honest with them.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little… risky?” Crowley asked. He shifted, melting closer to Aziraphale as their fingers laced together.

“What have we got to lose, my dear?” Aziraphale asked warmly.

Crowley opened his mouth, but then considered what they had endured and survived already, and surrendered with a smile.

“And… I think we have much to gain.”

“You think?”

“Haven’t you seen those two together?” Aziraphale’s smile turned giddy.

“Not sure Eric gets it.” Crowley puffed out his cheeks with a sigh.

“He’ll need a bit of guidance,” Aziraphale said in that lilting tone Crowley couldn’t escape.

“Alright. Alright!” Crowley threw his free hand up.

Aziraphale beamed happily and cuddled into Crowley’s angular shoulder.

Crowley’s smile turned soft, a smile just for his angel. “S’ppose it’ll be nice…” His brow narrowed, uncertain. “Being out of the closet, so to speak.”

“We’ve moved Heaven and Earth to get here,” Aziraphale sighed.

“... And I’d do it again,” Crowley murmured, a smile creeping onto his lips.

“Hey, kid.”

Eric looked up from his avocado sprout. He’d been muttering to it for the past several minutes, arguably telling it his plans for future wiles against Tim, but in reality talking mostly about Tim’s return.

“You goin’ out again, Mr. Crowley?” he asked. His mentor was dressed for it, his coat and boots on.

“Yeah…” Crowley shifted his weight and lifted a bottle of wine. “I was going to, uh… discuss some things with Aziraphale.”

Eric glanced at the bottle of wine, then got to his feet, blinking up at Crowley. “In the evenin’?”

“Yeah,” Crowley shot back and cleared his throat. “You wanna tag along? Er, discuss things with… your adversary?” The whole ‘adversary’ bit was getting a bit thin, but Eric still seemed stuck on it.

Eric wasn’t sure what he was meant to discuss with his adversary, but if Crowley was going to do that with  _ his  _ adversary, there had to be some merit to it. Besides… “Do I get to ride along in the Bentley?” he asked eagerly.

Crowley broke into a grin. “Yeah, kid.”

“Alright!” Eric eagerly hopped to follow Crowley out of the flat. “So what d’ya discussing with your adversary?” he asked as they went down the steps to the street. He was hoping to get some tips about what to talk to Tim about.

Crowley gave the sky a sort of wistful smile as they left his building. He was making good on their usual Thursday evening, which had gone by the wayside in the month that their students had been around.

“Uh, y’know…” Crowley shook himself. He started to rattle something off about plots this or schemes that, but he stopped himself. “Just a catch-up, really,” he said instead.

Eric frowned at Crowley’s vague answer and waited for the Bentley to admit Crowley before he hopped in opposite him. “Catch-up? Didn’t you see Mr. Fell yesterday?”

“Yeah,” Crowley said, almost defensive. He glanced at Eric, then managed a bemused smile. “When you get right down to it, y’ can’t just be fighting all the time. Gets boring.”

Eric considered that. Truth be told, he didn’t mind just talking with Tim. It was a lot less work than coming up with schemes.

“True adversaries,” Crowley nearly snorted on the word, “they know how to take a load off together from time to time. Eh?”

Eric nodded, as if this lesson were no less important than all the other ones.

Once they got underway, Eric was too enamored with Crowley’s driving to make further inquiries. Crowley only had to remind him once not to roll down the window and shout like a hooligan. So, progress.

Crowley parked the Bentley in a ‘no parking’ space just in front of the bookshop. It had always been a ‘no parking’ space, and arguably Aziraphale could have done something about that, but he knew it tickled Crowley’s sensibilities to cause a minor inconvenience to combat the comfort his bookshop brought. Tit for tat, and all.

The chime of the bookshop door only startled one of the occupants, who rose to go politely tell whoever had just come it that they were  _ quite  _ closed, it was well after dark--

But Aziraphale looked up from his book and waved for Tim to sit back down. “It’s only Mr. Crowley,” he said sweetly. He did so love calling him  _ Mr.  _ Crowley. He thought it charming.

“At this hour?” Tim asked.

Crowley looked almost bashful as he walked into the warm glow of the back room. “As promised,” he said, brandishing the bottle of wine.

“Right on time,” Aziraphale replied with a smile. Both angel and demon had a nervous energy about them. No more charades. No more playing pretend. Well, within reason. They didn’t want to absolutely shock their wards.

Tim exchanged a small smile with Crowley, then turned his head as he heard some books tumble to the ground.

“It’s bloody dark in here. If they was expecting us, they could’a at least left the lights on,” Eric muttered as he tripped over a book he had knocked from a table.

Tim’s smile grew and he rose from his chair to help. “Don’t step on the books, Eric. Mr. Fell will have a fit,” he said. He was literally glowing, albeit faintly, as he walked into the dark front room of the shop and met Eric. The demon was at least  _ trying  _ to pick up the books.

Eric’s hand met Tim’s on the last book, and they looked at each other.

“What’s this about, then?” Tim whispered to Eric, a curious glitter in his eyes.

Eric’s eyes flicked to Crowley, who was a ways off now with his adversary. He shrugged to Tim. “Dunno. Mr. Crowley said somethin’ about… takin’ a load off.”

Tim’s brow furrowed. “What does that mean?” He righted himself, shuffling the books in his arms. He spared a glance over his shoulder at their elders, then back to Eric. “Mr. Crowley’s not going to steal a bunch of books, is he?”

Eric frowned. “No, no, no. Nothin’ like that.” He shoved the books he had gathered onto the table, all higgledy-piggledy, then washed his hands of the matter with a brush of his palms. “He said… sometimes adversaries just… hang out. Talk about stuff.”

Tim looked back at Crowley and Aziraphale again and he could feel the nervous flutterings of love between them. His smile turned sweet as he set down his stack of books, distracted.

“Sounds weird, if y’ ask me,” Eric muttered, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“I think it sounds lovely,” Tim said softly. He then remembered the books were not in order and quickly turned back to put them in their proper places, such as Aziraphale’s system was. “Oh, help me put these books back.”

Eric looked at the table of books, confused. “I put ‘em back,” he said.

Tim narrowed a brow at him. “Do it properly,” he said firmly.

“What, just stack ‘em?”

“No, in order!”

“Well. This is nice,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley could feel the anxiety in his angel, that tip of his shoulders, the curl of his fingers around his wine glass. “Is it?” Crowley teased with a little breath of a laugh. “Drink up,” he encouraged with a wave of his glass.

Aziraphale’s smile softened and he let his glass ring against Crowley’s, then took a deep mouthful of wine. “Should I… bring out a board game?”

Crowley winced. Monopoly had been a mistake. He’d meant to turn a little innocent fun a touch more competitive, but even he had to admit, he’d gone overboard. “Family game night?” he whispered into his glass and gave a little shake of his head as he took a sip. “Best not.”

The demon waved Aziraphale back, giving his back a little reassuring rub between the shoulderblades as he turned. He took the initiative and flopped himself into his usual place on the settee, beckoning Aziraphale to sit next to him. The angel did so primly.

Both their gazes turned to find Eric and Tim chattering amiably in the dim glow of the guardian angel’s light, shuffling books around. Even Aziraphale couldn’t find it in his heart to worry too much over the books.

Aziraphale slowly turned to smile at Crowley, and the two godfathers began to relax.

By the time Tim is satisfied with the order of the books, Aziraphale and Crowley had fallen into quiet discourse and hardly noticed as the the younger angel and demon joined them. Tim sat in his chair, watching quietly.

Eric, similarly watching, ended up plopped on the floor nearby.

“Oh,” Tim tensed to stand, “Let me get you a chair.”

“Nah, I’m fine,” Eric insisted with a wave of his hand, his attention drawn away from watching their mentors. He looked at the stacks of books rising up around Tim’s chair, the tower on the table beside him. “These all in order?” he teased.

Tim glanced around at the books piled around him as if seeing them for the first time. “Oh. Well.” He looked bashful. “In a manner of speaking.”

Eric picked up a book from the stack. He didn’t know how so many old books ended up in one place. “How’re there so many old, dusty books? Y’d think people would just get rid of ‘em.”

“No! Can you imagine?” Tim gasped. Aziraphale’s influence had shaped his student into a model book lover. “It’s bad enough what happened in Alexandria,” he said and picked up the book he had been reading before Crowley and Eric had shown up, holding it reverently.

“What happened in Alexandria?” Eric asked.

“There was a great library there,” Tim explained. “It was burned to the ground.”

“Cool,” Eric chimed in.

“No, not cool, Eric!” Tim grumbled.

“Big fire, lotsa chaos n’ inconveniences,” he still hadn’t quite got the hang of the word; it came out a stilted series of syllables, “Sounds keen.”

Tim’s lips settled in a pout. How could he explain to Eric that it was very  _ not cool.  _ “Ah!” It came to him suddenly. “What about the apple, then?”

“What?” Eric was thoroughly confused now.

“The apple, from the Tree of Knowledge. You know, the Forbidden Fruit.”

“What about it, then?”

“Well--it gave Adam and Eve, er… Knowledge. Just like a library. Sort of.”

“So… you’re tellin’ me that libraries are evil?”

“No, I--” Tim faltered. “I’m saying--” Oh, what was he saying? “I’m saying that knowledge can be used for good or evil. And destroying that--well, it takes away from the-- the balance, I suppose.”

Eric considered this for a moment, his brow knit low over his long lashes. “I see wotcha mean. Sort of. Like, it takes away the  _ potential  _ for good  _ or  _ evil.”

“Yes,” Tim said with a smile of relief.

“But,” Eric pointed out, “That also means readin’ is good  _ and  _ evil.”

“What?” Tim balked. “No!”

“Sure it is! It’s knowledge, innit?”

“Yes, but…” Tim looked doubtfully at the cover of his book.

“Wotcher readin’?” Eric asked and leaned forward to look at the book.

“ _ Peter and Wendy, _ ” Tim supplied, showing Eric the cover.

“What’s it about?”

Tim’s tension eased when Eric asked him about his book. “A mischievous boy who never grows up…” he said, his smile softening. “I wanted to read it after where I found you--at the Peter Pan statue.”

Eric’s eyes widened a fraction. “Well, alright. That doesn’t sound too good,” he said.

Tim’s brow furrowed. He always struggled to parse what Eric meant about  _ good  _ and  _ bad. _ Bad seemed to mean good, and good seemed to mean bad, and it was all very confusing.

“Go on, then,” Eric said.

“Wh-what?” Tim blinked.

“Read me some.”

Tim’s glow nearly burst the nearby table lamp. “A-alright,” he said, his cheek flush with joy.

Wine was drunk, books were read, and records were played. Inside the sanctum of the bookshop, relations between Heaven and Hell went swimmingly.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow my wonderful collaborator [@InkyTortoise](https://twitter.com/InkyTortoise) for more wonderful art, and follow me [@vol_ctrl](https://twitter.com/vol_ctrl) for updates, info on early release chapters, and more content!


End file.
